The Shadow Around His Heart
by Arnold's Love
Summary: During an excavation in Ancient Egypt, Archaeologist Arnold Shortman discovers more than he ever expected-a connection so unbelievable he has no choice but to pursue it. And he does. Colliding along the way with romance, fate, and a long lost dream, Arnold soon encounters an ancient evil bent on destroying him and everything he loves. (AU)
1. Prologue

_**THE SHADOW AROUND HIS HEART**_

PROLOGUE

The dark sky peaking through the thick foliage is full of looming, ominous clouds as they pour their moisture down. Sounds of the rain thunder on as each heavy drop ricochets down into the jungle like the pounding of a thousand hooves during a stampede. Nothing else can be heard above the hammering of the rain. But he doesn't mind. He knows the rain will be brief and the clouds will dissipate almost as quickly as they have appeared.

And he is right.

Clouds slowly disperse as the sun's rays began to shine down into the jungle once more. Water softly drips off the abundant plant life and drips onto the ground forming pools of water that sparkle as each echoing drop lands. Animals slowly come out of their homes to drink from the puddles, and search for food. The earth is wet and muddy from the torrential rain the jungle just received leaving the ground an opulently dark and rich color.

He breaths in deeply, enjoying the scent of the moist, rich soil and the sounds of the jungle. Placing his hands on the ship's railing, he gazes down at them curiously. Sometimes he is still surprised by the sight of his own skin. He slowly moves his hands along the wooden railing feeling the rough wood carvings, the smooth, grooved feeling of the wood. Closing his eyes he pauses as he feels the tepid, moist breeze on his face and the sun's showering warmth. With a contented sigh, he stays there for a moment enjoying the simple pleasures his five senses can offer him.

Unexpectedly a sharp pain rushes through his head and he gasps in agony, opening his eyes, but seeing only darkness. Rolling blackness, and endless abyss and...nothingness. A veritable hell of darkness.

But then just as abruptly there is bright light-almost too bright. Hot, blue, clear skies-the light from it so brilliant and blinding he blinks a few times, squinting, and raising a hand to shield his eyes. And then he notices the sand. Endless, rolling dunes of the dry, tan-colored dusty dirt, reflecting the light from that scorching, azure sky-endlessly rolling sand like nothing he has ever seen before. Old ruins of once great buildings litter his view as the wasteland's sand blows across them-a desolate, lonely vista.

And then, it's gone just as fast as it came. The pain and the burning, dry wasteland that he could see only moments before is gone, and only the flourishing jungle is again in his sight now. Carefully he reaches up to rub at his head where the pain had once been, massaging his temple slowly.

He hasn't noticed the outline of someone approaching while he had been in his trance, and turns sharply when the figure speaks, "He is getting closer isn't he?"

"Yes, Riplakish, the time is drawing near. El Soñador will be here soon, and the time will come when we shall rise against all that was foretold and El Soñador once and for all." He stares into the deep jungle, and narrows his eyes as his fist comes down hard onto the railing. "Once and for all."

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Updated: September 14, 2016


	2. The Royal Tomb

_**THE SHADOW AROUND HER HEART**_

 _ **By: Arnold's Love**_

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CHAPTER ONE

Pulling my sunhat off, I wipe the moisture from my forehead with a cloth. Not that it will do any good. There's always a constant stream of sweat running down my face these days. I've never been a fan of heat...but I guess I should have thought about that before choosing my career. Hindsight's twenty-twenty, right? But, I'd choose it all over again.

And truth be told, I'm starting to get used to this Nile Valley heat (sort of), but occasionally in the middle of a long, grueling, achingly-hot, disappointing day it can get to be particularly overwhelming and just plain tiresome. Like why in the world did ancient nomads choose to settle here, let alone build an entire civilization? I mean, okay, yah, there's a nice river…but it's in the middle of the freaking desert! A place where the average temperature is like 115 degrees…and that's considered normal!

See? I hate the heat. If I had to choose, dry-heat like this definitely better then a humid-heat, but it's still heat—sweaty, melting, sweltering heat. Ugh! Moments like these, when the sun is scorching hot and unbearable and there's not a cloud in the sky, I find myself longing for the overcast skies of Western Washington State and the cooling rain they always carried with them. Beautiful, glorious, rain!

Occasionally this heat puts me in mind of the year when I was nine and we had the worst drought in Hillwood's history. It nearly drove everyone insane with heat induced rage. I remember feeling immensely angry all the time—barking at everyone and everything. But even that was nothing compared to these 100+ degree days here in Egypt. Luckily, at twenty-seven, I'm hopefully more mature and able to handle my heat-induced rages better. (Keyword there is "hopefully".)

I can claim maturity is how I manage to stand the heat, but perhaps, it's really just that I love my job so much. Even though this scorching warmth is a side affect of said job, I guess my enjoyment of my work makes it tolerable. Whenever the thought of taking a break, quitting, or going on vacation somewhere much cooler (the Arctic maybe?) starts to sound appealing, we make a new discovery and it suddenly all seems worth it; desert, heat, and all. Then the thought of leaving just seems...well, insane.

A few months ago I was literally only moments away from planning a vacation; mere _seconds_ away from taking a sabbatical back to the states—back to the rain and the mist and the clouds—but things took a sudden turn, and the vacation plans were thrown to the wind.

 _Looking at my watch, I realize I've been both digging and helping to oversee the diggers for three hours now—their Arabic shouting practically becoming a background music to my suddenly foggy mind—probably a good sign that it's time for a break. The heat is making me claustrophobic and the thought of sitting in my shady tent, maybe even dumping a bucket of water over my head and just relaxing sounds_ really _appealing._ Really _appealing. Why am I even still standing here?_

 _Without another pause, I head over to my co-worker Sandy who is directing a few of the workers with shovels._

 _"Sandy," I say, the words coming out strange and weak. Maybe I should have kept better track of the time and brought more water with me or something, This sudden dizziness and light-headed feeling are completely unexpected, not to mention my mouth is parched and dry. "Would you...would you mind coming over here...so I can...um...take a break?" I ask her, holding a hand to my head as the world around me begins spinning slowly._

 _"Arnold!" she gasps rushing over. Her hazel eyes widen as she looks up into my face. Always the caretaker of our team, she frowns at me and puts a stern face. "You need to march right back to camp and get some more sunscreen, drink a ton of water, and take a rest!"_

 _I nod, the dizziness almost overcoming me. March…sunscreen…what did she say?_

Without hesitation, she reaches out and grabs my shoulder to help steady me. _"Soren! Get over here!" she calls frantically, her voice sounding strangely far away, "come help Arnold back to his tent. He's been out too long in the sun. Hurry! I think he's gonna pass out!"_

 _I'll be honest, I may have passed out before Soren even reached me. Next thing I know I'm waking up in my tent soaking wet, two fans blowing on me and the desert sunset casting a hazy pink glow through the entrance. Feeling significantly better I quickly gulp down as much water as I can hoping to rehydrate myself sooner then later._

 _This heat is excruciating, I thought to myself, putting a hand to my head for a moment. We'd been out here searching for months and have found nothing. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Or as the ancient Egyptians would say, "_ fek" _. We've found nothing that is, unless you count endless sand dunes, scorpions, and the occasional rock. Exciting, right?_

 _I drop my hands to my lap and hang my head in defeat. Maybe it really is time for me to take a vacation. I guessed that the team would probably be just fine without me if I took a break for a while. They had all had turns taking sabbaticals over the past few months and I figured it was high time I took my turn. It would be nice to take a break, rest up, and visit my best friend Gerald and his family. He had twins, three year old now, whom I had only met once when his wife, Phoebe, had given birth while I was on a summer break from college and living nearby. Maybe it was time to pay them a visit again._

 _Yes, that's what I need to do—take a sabbatical._

 _Getting up cautiously since I don't want to pass out again, still feeling slightly tipsy, I sit down at my desk in front of my laptop and open my email. I'm doing it. I'm sending Gerald an email and to see if he and his family would be up for a visit from me. Ignoring my overflowing inbox, I select his name from my contacts list and immediately begin typing._

 _"Hey, Man!_

 _"It's been a while since I've heard from you! How are you doing? Is everything going well? How's work? Have you been promoted yet? Knowing you and your charisma and charm, you happenin' dude, you've probably been promoted twice already since we talked last. How are the boys? Are they getting big?_

 _"So, I'm thinking of taking a vacation for a few weeks and I thought it would be fun to come see you. This heat and fruitless searching is really starting to get to me. I really think I need a break. A break would be a blessed relief. Maybe I should just give up on this whole thing. "I don't know if I ever told you this, but during my apprenticeship in Deir el-Bahri a few years ago I translated some hieroglyphics hinting at the existence of a royal burial tomb-part of the family of Pharaoh Thutmose I. The royal tomb should be exactly where we are searching. Sadly, we've been here months, but we haven't found anything. I'm starting to think I translated it wrong, or that it was just a myth or something to throw off would-be grave robbers. Honestly, I'm starting to feel a little crazy, so a vacation sounds really good right now._

 _"Let me know, ok? If it doesn't work for you, that's fine. I'll just go stay in the boarding house for a while. I should probably make sure there hasn't been an uprising against Suzy or anything. You know how the boarders can be and while Suzy can run a tight ship, I just know those guys and they can get crazy._

 _"Anyway, just let me know. I'll just be here in the barren wasteland...vainly searching through the infinite desert sands for something that doesn't exist-"_

 _My email was interrupted by Sandy, suddenly bursting into my tent excitedly. "Arnold! We've found it! I think we've found it!"_

 _"You did it, Arnold!" Lindsey exclaimed joining him in my tent, along with Antoinette and Soren. Their faces beamed with pure elation. "You found it!"_

Needless to say I never finished that email. We immediately threw ourselves into uncovering the tomb and its entrance. The tomb doorway did indeed have the royal seal of Thutmose I on it, proving my theory correct. And let's not forget to mention, it also proved I was _not_ a crazy, scatter-brained female archeologist, but instead an educated person well versed in hieroglyphics.

Since that discovery a few months ago we have explored the staired-entryway and a long passageway leading to an antechamber; so far all sacked by ancient looters and void of anything but a few small things: shattered stone and clay vases, some lapis lazuli and faience beads, a few dried-up pieces of linen etc. No one is disappointed though because of the walls—oh, the walls; those miraculous walls covered with gorgeous, colorful paintings and hieroglyphics. I'm probably the most excited about it of all of us. Hieroglyphics and ancient languages are kind of my specialty. I can spend hours studying and translating—learning about the Ancient Egyptians in their own words—and never, _ever_ get bored.

And in fact, that's all I've been doing.

I've been spending all my free time each day, when we aren't digging or searching the tomb, meticulously copying the paintings and hieroglyphics into my notebook, documenting each one with its location, then transliterating and translating each symbol. As good as I am at translating it's definitely hard, tedious work and can be very time consuming. There are many faded parts on these wall murals, and pieces that have crumbled away or been damaged by the ever changing Nile banks and its flooding.

So far the translating has been interesting and fun work. The antechamber holds scenes from _The Book of the Dead_ , and the entrance has paintings of the royal family and their lives. Things like Pharaoh Thutmose I and his wife Queen Ahmose of the 18th dynasty, holding court while his father, the revered Amenhotep I, watches. The paintings also show him with a second wife, Mutnofret, and some of his children, 4 sons and two daughters, two of whom are the well-known Thutmose II and Hatshepsut-both whom would rule Egypt in the future.

It's almost like a journal in mural form, showing their lives and the things they did—small moments in their lives. They all seemed very close, especially the siblings-playing together as children, then attending feasts and parties as adults. While I haven't finished translating everything yet, I have learned that two of the sons were actually older then Thutmose II and the original heirs to the throne. None of the hieroglyphics I've translated so far explain what happened to them or why they didn't make it to the throne, but I'm starting to suspect (and hope!) that they died young and that their tombs will be somewhere in this royal burial cache. Perhaps even undiscovered by tomb robbers.

The apparent disappearance of these brothers, Amenmose and Wadjmose, and why they didn't ascend the throne is in the forefront of my mind. I spend each night, laying in bed, playing with the locket around my neck wondering…what happened to them? Where'd they go? And my mind tries to conjure up reasons for their disappearance. Perhaps it was illness that took them early, healthcare wasn't the best thousands of years ago, everyone knows that. Or maybe they were killed during a military campaign, as Thutmose I was well known for his military pursuits and princes often fought on the front lines during The New Kingdom. There were endless possibilities, but nothing on the walls of any tomb here or anywhere else in Egypt that explains their sudden vanishing.

But that mystery may soon be solved! We discovered an entrance to a burial chamber a few days ago and have been working hard to remove the rubble that has accumulated in front of the tomb door over the centuries. From what I translated above the door, it's the tomb of Mutnofret, the mother to over half of the children, including the original heirs. I haven't translated the rest of the text, only looking long enough to identify the occupant of the tomb. And we plan to open it today.

While the previous rooms have held only the paintings and hieroglyphics and a few trinkets, there is always hope that we'll find something else. As archeologists you can't help but hope you'll discover the next undiscovered tomb akin to Tutankhamen's. I'm optimistic we'll find more hieroglyphics in there with evidence or clues to the disappearance of the two brothers. Because, come on, I've got to know!

Grabbing my water jug I drink as much as I can in preparation for our hike into the tomb. I'm feeling kind of jittery with excitement and adrenaline already. No matter how many tombs and rooms we discover and open it's always such a rush opening a new one. You literally can never, ever guess what you might find and the anticipation is like its own kind of drug bringing my senses and emotions up to a high I can hardly control or understand.

It's during these moments of excitement highs and adrenaline rushes that I find myself caught up in daydreaming. Just like when I was a kid. Always daydreaming and never quite growing out of it. My grandma used to say it's the sign of a creative, emotional, empathetic mind. And I like to think she was right.

This time, like many times before, I find myself dreaming of the jungles of San Lorenzo.

I've never been there, but daydreamed about it plenty of times. It has probably always been my mind's way of dealing with the loss of my parents as such a young age. Being that they were anthropologist and scientists, they left when I was only one to save a small group of people native to the San Lorenzo jungle. But they never returned and we never heard from them again.

As a small boy I had hope that they would return, that they were just lost in the jungle somewhere and one day I'd see them again. While I would be a liar if I didn't admit that a small ember of hope still lies within my heart, my practical adult mind has since admitted that it's highly unlikely. But it's still a hard loss to cope with, even at 26, so my mind tries to comfort itself with daydreaming of San Lorenzo.

So today, at this moment, as I stand in the scorching deserts of Egypt, tired of the endless sun and rolling sand dunes, I dream of those jungles-the San Lorenzo jungles after a rain storm. I can see it so clearly…so clearly, almost as if I'm actually there.

I can see it so clearly…so clearly, almost as if I'm actually there. The rich, dark colors of the earth and the plant life. The dispersing dark, storm clouds; the sun's light shining down through the jungle foliage, casting patterned sun spots on the ground, decorating the dark, moist soil with scattered designs like a mosaic. I can see the excess raindrops still slowly dripping down off the lush leaves of the plants and dropping softly into puddles on the ground, where jaguars, monkeys, brightly colored birds and all other jungle animals come out to drink.

I can see it so vividly in my mind that I can even almost smell the scents of the jungle and feel the moist breezes on my face. It's crystal clear, just the way I always see it. Imagining how it will be when I could finally go there and maybe someday, if fate is with me, discover what happened to my parents twenty-five years ago.

"Arnold?" a voice asks, pulling me back from my daydream and causing me to lower the hand I had raised to shield my eyes from the sun. "Are you ready yet or what?" my co-worker Lindsey, an anthropologist from Minnesota, asked in her mildly thick accent. She's grinning, rubbing her hands together in anticipation like a little five year-old about to get a giant lollipop. "Come on everyone's waiting for you!"

Gulping down my last sip of water I chuckle and nod. "Ok, let's go. I'm ready."

We arrive at the entrance to the tomb in record time. But the rest of our group is waiting and panting in the heat of the sun. Just as I start to feel bad for daydreaming and leaving them waiting and practically melting in this heat, they start applauding sarcastically and instead of feeling bad I roll my eyes instead. "Okay, guys, I get the point. Sorry I took so long."

Chuckling Antoinette, pats me on the back. "Daydreaming again, Dr. Shortman?"

The others laugh…they've all learned about my inopportune ability to daydream far too often. It's a bit of a running joke. I smirk back at her. "Maybe. Either way I'm here now, so let's get this show on the road!" I exclaim, turning towards the entrance.

With the others following close behind me, we head downward into the low, stooped entrance of the tombs, the brightness already half of what it had been outside. Pausing briefly to light our lanterns, we walk with care; still never sure how stable everything is in here at this point. Shining my lantern onto the walls I look to the wall paintings, never able to pass by without gazing at them and their ancient intricacies for at least a moment. I'm still stunned that we found them and that I'm the one documenting and translating them. Me, football-headed Arnold Shortman, from Hillwood, Washington.

Reaching the entrance to the newly uncovered tomb door, my co-workers carefully place their lanterns around the entrance so we can be ready once it's opened.

"After you," Lindsey gestures towards the tomb door, the thrill of discovery glowing and apparent on her face.

Nodding, I step forward, the ecstasy from the thought of what we might see blocking out any words. I kneel in front of the tomb door and try to ignore the excited shaking in my legs, readying myself to slide open the door. Tenderly I run my fingers over the hieroglyphics etched in the stone wall- words written thousands of years ago by a scribe of the ancient Egyptian kingdom. These antique carvings echoing of lives once lived, words once spoken, and thoughts once shared.

This is the part I love most about my job. Thinking of all those who are long gone-the ones who have left these tombs behind for us to marvel and wonder about. I love to ponder on the rich lives they lived, the stories they made all those years ago. Honestly, it both overwhelms and intrigues me; just thinking of the generations of people long gone-each individual, each with their own unique story. This thought alone is almost so incalculable and impossible to comprehend that it can make my mind feel like it's on the verge of an intense explosion. Millions of individual lives long gone, their stories lost forever or buried here in the dust. It kind of makes me think about my own little and insignificant life-will my name and my life be just as forgotten as most of those who lived here in this ancient land? Lost forever like ones who ordered this tomb to be built or those who built it? Forgotten like those buried here-buried in this tomb with all that they might need in the after life-hoping the god Osiris would find their hearts and life pure so they could continue their journey in to the paradise of the afterlife. Will I too be forgotten and left as dust to blow away forever? It's a numbing, deadening thought.

Shaking my head a little, I try to refocus again.

Whose tomb was this that we are about to open? Secondary wife to Pharaoh Thumose I, Mutnofret. But in our excitement to open the tomb, that was all I had translated; the inscriptions on the door after her name, possibly a warning to all who disturb the slumber of those inside. Or perhaps a curse-a curse on those who dare to disturb the mummy's slumber.

I look to the tomb door again, holding my breath in anticipation. The intense emotions funneling around inside this little room deep underground; swirling around us like a thick mist infiltrating the room, seeping into every corner and crevice-almost a suffocating feeling. Everyone nervous and excited-waiting with baited breath for the mummy's tomb to be open once again.

I'm about to open a long forgotten tomb, the tomb of an ancient royal wife from an ancient dynasty-this incomprehensible exhilaration almost making me immobile. My heart is racing and pounding in my chest. Pounding so loudly that it's now all I can hear. It drowns out all the other sounds, all the other feelings, until there's nothing but this loud thumping of adrenaline and thrill filling me and pushing me on through my excitement.

Inhaling once more I force my hands forward, placing my fingertips between the cracks connecting the tomb doors to the walls. Carefully and very slowly I pull until the door is open enough for me to put my hands in and push with all my might to slide the heavy stone door open step by step until it's gaping open, revealing the dark inside of the tomb.

The light from the lanterns on the ground around us only show us a small semi-circle of the very entrance of the tomb. Dust pillows around me from the sudden movement of the door and the incoming breeze billowing in from the main entrance behind us. I cough into my arm and look, blinking occasionally as the dust tickles my retinas, and wait impatiently for my eyes to adjust, the dust to slowly to settle onto the ground once more.

No one speaks, our anticipation only heightened by the opening of the tomb door and the still unknown contents of the murky room in front of us. I pick up a lantern next to my feet, holding it up in front of my face as I take a very cautious step into the room. It's very dark, the only light coming from the one lantern in my hand and the soft glow of the other lanterns behind me. The cool, dead air in the room is dry and stale from years of being shut away from the light and breezes of day. Holding the lantern up even higher I move the light to my left immediately noticing a painting on the wall. Stepping closer, the others wait just outside until I call them in.

The painting is still remarkably bright and colorful and not too faded like some of the others in the previous rooms. It's a painting of the jackal-headed god Anubis leaning over a newly mummified woman of royal birth. The two figures surrounded in hieroglyphics-words I will have to fully translate later, but a few like "Anubis, akh ( _spirit or soul)_ , duat ( _the realm of the dead)_ and ieb ( _heart)_ " I recognize from memory. Gently I place my hand on the wall, running my fingers over the painted figures-my hands probably the first to touch them since the tomb painters thousands of years ago.

There's a small connection I feel for a moment-so thin and long it's like a gossamer thread stretching from the present back to the time of the ancient Egyptians. But a tangible feeling all the same. My hand electrifies at the thought that these walls have not been touched by anyone but me for thousands of years. Their finger prints may still reside beneath my hand, captured for centuries in the paint residue. If I closed my eyes I could almost sense their presence, hear them breathing-ghosts and shadows of those that once were, but have long since passed away.

I move the light to the next wall holding the lantern up high again. This wall shows the preparation of the burial of the royal person-a mourning pharaoh and children at the feet of the mummified woman who is being held up by the god Anubis himself. Servants bringing offerings to her and below they are preparing the tomb with things she may need in the afterlife-furniture, furs, and food piled high on tables. More hieroglyphics surround these paintings as well but once again I reminded myself that they will have to wait to be translated.

Swiftly, I spin around hoping to see something left from Mutnofret's burial-her mummy, items for her afterlife journey as depicted in the wall reliefs-anything. I step forward trying to shine the lantern better, wishing it was brighter and that its light will expand and light up the room all at once like a bright sunbeam so it will be easier to explore. _I could have the others get lights and more lanterns and then continue to investigate_ , I think briefly. But quickly I shake my head dispelling the idea. I'm not about to wait that much longer to explore this long enclosed tomb.

Squinting and hoping it will help me see through the darkness better, I take another step forward and flinch when I hear a crunching sound as my foot presses down. My face contorts into a grimace and I immediately kneel down to see what I've done, beating myself mentally for getting so excited that I forgot for a moment to tread vigilantly. Looking around me as I reach my hand out for the offending object I realize that scattered about on the floor are numerous little pieces and bits of something. Tenderly, I pick up the object I stepped on and bring it close to my face, shining the lantern directly on it as I hold it there in front of my eyes.

Gasping and smiling all at once, I feel my heartbeat increase tenfold and adrenaline rush through my body once more at what I have just found and am now holding in my very own hands.

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Updated: September 14, 2016

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A/N:

Hey guys!

I am so excited for this story! It's going to be awesome!

I've been spending hours researching and trying to find real historical facts to fit into this story, so the royal family mentioned here were real. Which I think is awesome because I spent a day researching, trying to find a royal family that fit into my plot line and this one fit so perfect I think that it was fate and meant to be. You'll see why as the story progresses! So exciting!

So now, what do you think of the story so far? And what do you think it is that Archaeologist Arnold found? Any guesses?

I'm so excited and can't wait to hear what you think! Please review! Your reviews mean the world to me!

Love,

Arnold's Love


	3. A Mummy Daydream

"The Shadow Around His Heart"

By: Arnold's Love

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CHAPTER TWO:

In my hand I hold a piece of linen-ancient and dry, about to crumble into dust-a piece of linen that was most likely wrapped around the mummy of the royal wife whose profile lines the walls of this tomb. Strewn about the sandstone floor are many more bits of linen. I let out an elated exclamation of glee as I also spot bones spread about and mixed in with the linen pieces. A tingling fire of excitement races through my, starting where my fingers hold the linen, then up through my arm. I can hardly believe what I've found!

A dream of mine for as long as I can remember-not only to discover a tomb but to discover even pieces of a mummy is amazing! I can't control the broad smile that spreads across my face. This second wife to pharaoh may not be fully intact, her tomb and belongings scavenged at some point in the past, but here, scattered about this ancient tomb are the remains of her ancient mummy! A mummy in a catacomb of tombs that I discovered only by following unlikely clues that I found while finishing my degree and my specialties-Egyptology and ancient language translation. Amazing clues that no one else seemed to believe were connected, but I do, and here it is paying off.

Jumping up carefully I shine the light into the furthest corner of the room, displaying the remains of a red quartzite sarcophagus-covered in hieroglyphics and images. Tip-toeing around the mummy's ruins spread on the floor, I timidly step closer to the coffin. I'm trying to control the anticipatory adrenaline of excitement that is racing through my body again. It's a sarcophagus...that could be empty...the mummy already ripped to shreds by grave robbers, the treasures stolen long ago...or there could still be a few treasures left or even more of the mummy inside. It's all I can do to remain calm and not get my hopes up.

The lid has been moved aside so that it's almost completely pushed off-it's cracked and about a quarter of the lid has completely broken off and is in crumbled pieces on the ground. The part of the lid still intact has pictures and hieroglyphs etched into it. I immediately recognize the Wadjet, also known as The Eye of Horus. A common symbol in Ancient Egypt and regularly found on sarcophaguses as it was intended to protect the pharaoh or person in the afterlife.

Swallowing my nervous hopes, I close my eyes for a moment...afraid I'll be disappointed if I expect too much-if I expect the unlikely possibility that there's anything left in there. Taking a deep breath and holding the lantern up above my head I peer inside. Gasping in surprise, I spot more remains of the mummy, as well as some trinkets that the grave robbers left behind in their hurry to leave. But the surprising thing is that the mummy is actually in there-mostly whole. She's obviously badly damaged from the grave robbers-both arms are missing, having been ripped off by grave robbers (likely the bones and linen strewn about the room), many of her wrappings long gone, and her chest and part of her mouth smashed in-also by grave robbers, searching for whatever treasures may lie beneath her wrappings.

I think I may have let out a girlish squeal when I saw the mummy because Lindsey peers into the tomb now calling, "did you find something? Can we come in? Do you need us to get anything? What's going on? We're absolutely dying out here, Arnold!" her voice is rising with each question, the aching anticipation evident in her voice.

Finally finding words through my thrilled shock, I call back, my voice over-flowing with ecstasy, "yes! Bring the lights, and the camera and the brushes! But tread carefully; we've got ourselves the remains of a mummy!"

* * *

"Did you ever think you'd discover an actual mummy, Arnold?" Antoinette asks, taking a picture of each bone, writing down it's position on the tomb floor, and then carefully putting them in a bucket to carry up to Soren, our osteologist and chemist. His job is to label and record each bone and take a sample for carbon dating purposes.

"Not really," I say with a dismissive shrug from my place by the sarcophagus. "I mean sometimes it seems like all the mummies that are out there have already been found or destroyed." I pause for a moment. "It's kind of like one of those dreams you don't allow yourself to believe could come true because you don't want to get your hopes up too high, to only be hugely disappointed," I add thoughtfully, remembering. I had done that about my parents and their disappearance for years…always holding on the this ember of hope that they would return one day. They never had and when reality finally made it's way into my heart I was more devastated then ever. "You know what I mean?" I ask her, looking back down at the writing on the sarcophagus' lid, trying to refocus on the task at hand.

"Yes, definitely," she replies nodding attentively. "Like you hope something will happen-like discovering a mummy-but you're so afraid of how disappointed you'll be if it never actually happens that you...you try to make yourself expect the worse case scenario and focus on that instead," she says in agreement. "Kind of like a self-preservation technique against disappointment. I get that," she replies, adding another bone to the bucket. "But now that it's actually happened aren't you just dying from excitement?"

I look back over at her thoughtfully. "You know, it's weird. I'm kind of in this sort of stunned haze, honestly," I smile at her. "Like maybe the reality of it all hasn't sunk in yet or something." Turning back to the mummy I add, "it's absolutely astounding though isn't it?"

"It's more then astounding!" she shoots back. "I certainly never expected this when I came to work for you," she grins teasingly. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I knew you were really intelligent and I always figured you'd do amazing things, but everyone said you were crazy, you know," she declares, frankly. "You were like this absent-minded-or probably just distracted-football-headed student at the university," she chuckled, amused. "All those years of our schooling you were always the same. So engrossed in your work; never dating, never going to parties, never just hanging out with friends. Instead you could always be found studying at the library and working some new paper or theory. Always talking obsessively about ancient languages and archeology. What a weirdo," she adds with a teasing wink.

"Was I really that bad?" I laugh, feeling slightly embarrassed by my apparently extremely anti-social behavior in college. "I went to a party…once."

She shook her head in amusement. "You went to _one_ party, Arnold. I don't think that counts," she giggles in amusement.

"Maybe more then one. I don't remember. I wasn't _that_ lame though." I frown though, trying to remember anything about my college days that didn't involve my research. "Was I?"

"Eh…I don't know. I wasn't much better," she shrugs. "Of course, everyone always _did_ refer to you as that 'hieroglyphics weirdo.' And everyone knew immediately who they were talking about. I mean," she quickly continues, "everyone knew you were a _genius_ , no one ever doubted that-especially after your thesis was published. But I don't think anyone believed you'd prove any of your _crazy_ theories."

"Oh, you guys of little faith," I taunt with a smirk.

She chuckles at that. "Well, I always wanted to believe in your theory-in your work-in you. I'd worked with you in enough classes to know you were a force to be reckoned with in the archeology field and I wanted to be there firsthand to see it and maybe even be a part of it all"

I chuckle. If only everyone knew my more insane suspicion. Something so fanatical and extreme I have never actually said it out loud to anyone. Sometimes you have to know when to keep things to yourself and when to share. It's why my published thesis was only half of what I had discovered during all my research, not all of it. I had written it all out, but never published it all. I wanted more evidence first. More evidence before I publish that second part of my theories-if I find more clues that will hopefully shred more light onto my fantastical theory. I may find it in this tomb or it may take me the next 30 years to find clues, but I have very little doubt I will discover something someday that proves me right.

"Well, I'm glad you did," I tell Antoinette, focusing back on our conversation, "because you've made such a difference for this expedition and I really appreciate it. I'm glad you saw more then a hieroglyphics nerd in me," I laugh, winking at her.

"Yah, well, it's the least I could do," she jokes back. "I'll be honest though, I'm glad you weren't an insane, poor young man stuck in the desert following a mirage and instead you were totally legit. I'm not sure I could have handled being called crazy as gracefully as you have." Putting a few more bones in the bucket she turns to face me again. "I was literally and completely going on nothing but my faith in you when I wrote you wanting to join your expedition. It's amazing how far from the truth rumors can get."

"Yah, well, it didn't bother me back then, I was so focued. And as for the 'poor' part, I never wanted to correct that and announce that I had money. I didn't want the attention I knew that would bring or to have people constantly asking me to donate to this or that cause. I knew what I needed it for," I stated, thinking of how I was able to fund my own expedition because of it. "If it wasn't for the fact that it funds this expedition, I wouldn't enjoy having so much money. I kind of feel like I don't deserve it."

She shoots me a look of disbelief. "If anyone deserves it, it's you, Arnold. Was it an inheritance or something?"

"Yes, my grandpa's sister, my Great Aunt Mitzi, left it for me before she died," I say, a hint of sadness sneaking out into my tone.

"That's nice of her. You must have been really close to her."

"I met her when I was nine, but she lived far away and her and my grandpa never got along extremely well. But she wrote me letters regularly, sent me a birthday gift every year, and visited occasionally. Her visits usually consisted of her and my grandpa arguing and bantering," I laughed at the memories. "When my grandparents started to get really old she started contacting me more and I went to visit her a few times, but that was the most we ever got together."

"I'm sorry about your loss, Arnold," Antoinette says quietly, noticing my sad tone of voice.

I can't help the tone when I talk about her or my grandparents. I'm the last Shortman left and it's caused a pretty sad, long enduring heartache in me. I was there with her...sat there with her during her last moments. I'm glad I was there, even though it was excruciatingly hard to say goodbye to her. But it would have been much worse if I hadn't been able to be with her then.

 _I felt the tears on my cheeks as I knelt by the bed of last of my Shortman relatives, Great Aunt Mitzi, who would soon pass away. I could hardly look at her-wanting to avoid that, that truth and the bitter loneliness that was already taking hold of my heart. I'd already done this twice with my grandparents and it only got harder each time. I had friends and the boarders still, but there's something different about having blood-relatives and Aunt Mitzi was my last._

 _"Arnold...listen," she whispered in her aged and weakened voice. Lately the sound of her failing voice scared and confused me. My Great Aunt Mitzi's voice was never weak, it was always strong with a commanding authority and grace I'd never seen, but in her-nothing like this weak, raspy voice that escaped her lips now._

 _"Yes, Aunt Mitzi?" I finally choked out, my heart aching and my eyes burning from the tears I was trying so desperately hard to hold back. I've never succeeded much in holding back my tears. Grandma used to say it was alright to cry, that the strongest of men weren't afraid to feel and express their feelings; but society didn't agree with her. So I'd always tried to hold them back, just never succeeded well. And I tried at that moment, even though I knew I'd lose the battle-that I'd already lost it._

 _Aunt Mitzi's withered hand reached out and gently took hold of mine. I didn't want to look up-still didn't want to face the truth-even more so the closer it got. I knew it would only make it harder. But finally I made myself look up and met her faded green eyes with my own._

 _"Arnold," she began softly and slowly, "I want you to know, I'm leaving you everything I have. Everything." I started shaking my head immediately, but she looked at me with meaning before continuing. "My house, my furniture, all my money. It's all for you," she stated. Smiling softly at me, she added, "I want you to pursue your dreams, Arnold."_

 _"Oh, Aunt Mitzi, I can't accept that." I was shaking my head again. "I can't."_

 _She put a finger to my lips to hush me. "Not another word," she demanded, her voice weak, but the commanding authority there again, if even for a moment. "Listen. It's what I want, Arnold. I'm the old lady in the bed and I want you to take it all. You WILL take it. Sell the house, the furniture, whatever you want. Take the money and finish your Archeology degree, and then use the rest to follow your heart and pursue your dreams, Arnold. I couldn't be prouder of who you are. And I'm so glad I've had the chance to get to know you and grow closer to you over the years," she finished in almost a whisper as she closed her eyes for a moment._

 _Panicking slightly at her fading voice, more tears spilled from my eyes. The thought of her leaving me...of her dying was too much for me. I loved my Aunt Mitzi so much. I didn't want to have to go on without her as well as without her as well as without my grandparents and parents._

 _"Arnold, I'm just so proud…of who you've become."_

 _I looked up to see her looking at me again, her old weathered eyes searching mine. Her voice was getting weaker, but she pressed on with urgency in her voice. "Arnold…now this…is important," she forced her voice out in a breathy whisper now. "You are…destined…for great things. You're going to discover incredible things, Arnold. Miraculous things…that will lead you to find…all the desires of your heart. I promise you," she said, as if she herself was fate and could control everything. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over now and she was looking less and less focused, less coherent. But she continued to talk despite it. "It won't be easy…and it may be excruciatingly hard…and the end may not be what you expect…but you'll find everything you've always...longed for and more, Arnold. I know...this is true," she whispered, her eyes looking more wild and eccentric by the moment. After a pause, she continued once more, "please, Arnold, take my money-your money now-and pursue your love of ancient writings, of ancient peoples, it WILL serve you well," she finished, closing her eyes. "I love you, Arnold."_

She hadn't died long after those last words. She'd left me in a world of heartbreak and all alone. I'd sat in her parlor for a long time crying and missing her desperately already. And I had also cried over the loss of her, and again over the loss of my grandparents and my own parents-whom I had only known as a baby and would never know again. That ache still hurt. Like a constant whole in my heart that had always been there…like the shadow of what once was and would never be again. The death of Grandma and Grandpa had only added to that deep ache. And then with Aunt Mitzi gone it felt like an endless painful twinge-a wrenching pain that never went away no matter how much I tried to ignore it or how distracted I got with life. Even now staring down at an actually _mummy_ that I had discovered, that pain hadn't gone away.

Aunt Mitzi had sounded so certain in her final words that day-as if she truly was fate in human form and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what she told me was true. As if somehow she had known what awaits me-what still might be in my future. But she was also very old, a little senile for certain, and on her deathbed. Her eyes had been hazy and unclear and for all I know her last words were nothing more then a delirium as her life came to an end. So I always try not to dwell on it too much even when "finding all the desires of my heart" sounds so nice and wonderful and hopeful.

But it's a hopeful wish I don't want to focus on or think much about. I don't handle disappointment or heartache well-I feel things so deeply sometimes it can make me feel broken for a long time. So I don't think about Aunt Mitzi's words or her promise for me to find "all the desires of my heart". Especially when I know finding all the desires of my heart is completely impossible-because the biggest desire of my heart is to have my parents back again. Something that can never happen. They're long gone.

But I had done as Aunt Mitzi asked and taken the money and put it into my schooling and my research. When I graduated with my archeology degree, I put more of the money into following the clues I had found for finding this royal burial tomb. I'd hired a team and we'd headed out to Egypt and worked hard to uncover what we hoped lay beneath the sand. And we had-a miraculous discovery that still seemed like an unreal dream.

"So what do you see? Have you started translating anything yet or what?" Lindsey asks coming to stand next to me, having just returned to the tomb to see how our progress was going.

I laugh. Sometimes my crew expected a little too much of me when it came to speed of translation and they definitely didn't understand the pre-translation process and how long that could take. "Not yet. I have noticed something kind of curious though-"

My daydreams have such odd timing. Suddenly I find myself imagining another tomb-like structure-but dark, dank, and humid. Jungle plants grow out of the cracks, strange beetles run across the ground and I imagined myself walking through this old, abandoned building-a tomb-like building so very different from the one I'm currently investigating in Egypt. Glancing briefly at the walls, I recognize symbols-especially the symbol of the green eyes-a symbol I've known since I was nine and found my father's journal-my father who had helped the green-eyed people of San Lorenzo with my mother. They were the ancient civilization my parents had learned a bit about and saved once. The same group of people they left and went to save when I was only a baby. I find myself often imagining what their old temples were like...the green-eyed temples ones my parents walked through...the ones my dad translated their written symbols in…the one I was born in during a volcanic eruption-a story so fantastical I was sure my grandpa had made it up until I read it in my father's own words in his journal.

"Arnold...hey, Arnold!" Lindsey is saying, waving a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Arnold."

"S-sorry," I stutter, realizing that both she and Antoinette are staring at me strangely.

"Dude, Arnold, you were _totally_ spacing out again," Lindsey comments, rolling her eyes. "No wonder you haven't accomplished anything yet," she teases with a wink. "You eyes like glazed over like you were hypnotized or something. Mummy got your brain?"

"Arnold, are feeling alright?" Antoinette asks her brows furrowed in worry. "You've been doing that an awful lot lately. Do you want to go rest for a while? Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Oh, come on, Antoinette," Lindsey groans. "Arnold never sleeps. He daydreams so much, he doesn't need to sleep like the rest of us," she scoffs in a teasing tone. "Maybe he's a _mummy_!" she exclaims her eyes widening dramatically and she stretches out her arms mummy-style.

I elbow her in the ribs and roll my eyes as she laughs boisterously.

"What were you going to tell us before you went all _mummified_ on us," Lindsey jokes with a big cheesy smile.

Ignoring her, I continue with my observation, "Well, remember I told you guys about The Eye of Horus or the Wadjet I noticed on the sarcophagus?"

They both nod.

"I wasn't surprised by this initial Wadjet here on the top of the coffin-they were commonly used on sarcophaguses to protect the dead and ward off evil in the afterlife," I explain pointing at it and tracing it lightly with my finger. "Actually originally it was the representation of the earliest Egyptian goddesses, Wadjet, who was the tutelary deity of Lower Egypt until it unified with Upper Egypt, and then she became the patron of all Egypt. She's usually depicted in some fashion with a cobra…either with the head of the cobra or the body of a cobra and head of a woman…something like that."

"Okay, Arnold, you're nerding out on us…is any of this relative to what you were going to tell us?" Lindsey prompts with a huff.

"Well, probably not."

The girls laugh. "Well, get to it then!" Lindsey exclaims.

"Anyway, after I noticed that big one there, I realized there seem to be a lot more of them all over it," I state. "And all over the walls," I pointed out. When the girls don't respond I added, "Which _is_ highly unusual because one-especially one this large-was usually judged to be plenty of protection for the dead."

"Maybe the lady liked them or something," Lindsey comments with a shrug.

"Maybe," I grin mysteriously with half-lidded eyes. "Or maybe there's a whole lot more to it then that."

Lindsey raises an eyebrow as she shakes her head at me.

"Another one of your crazy theories?" Antoinette teases, in acknowledgment of our earlier conversation.

"Could be," I reply nonchalantly, not willing to tell her anything else at the moment.

"Well, anyway, Mister _Mysterious_ ," Lindsey says, sarcastically, "Soren wanted me to come get you. He has a sample ready to take to the lab in Luxor."

Nodding I follow them up out of the tomb. Soren is already in the jeep looking bored and impatient. "You guys are taking forever! You know these results take days to get back right? If we never get going we'll have to wait two extra days because of the weekend. Let's go," he demands, impatiently tapping on the dashboard.

"Hush," Antoinette chides.

"My wife may not be here right now, Antoinette, but I don't you replacing her nagging," he jokes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sure Sandy would love to hear you say that. Besides with her coming back soon I figured you needed to practice being civil," Antoinette shoots back innocently.

"What are you talking about? I'm the most civil person here," Soren responds, as Lindsey hops into the back of the jeep.

"Riiiiight," Lindsey mocks, leaning her head forward so it's right next to him. "And I'm Mother Teresa."

Soren, ignoring her, calls back down to me, "Are you coming or what? I'd like to be back before the sun sets."

"You guys head on out, I'll keep working on collecting," Antoinette says to me as I pass her to get into the jeep.

"Ok, we'll be back later," I reply with a smile.

Soren looks over at me for a second, almost like he's analyzing me. The guy analyzes _everything_. Finally he gets a big smirk on his face. "What are you smiling like that for?" he asks as he starts the car, and I realize I have a huge, dopey grin on my face still.

"Nothing," I respond, casually, as we head out into the desert towards the city.

But that's anything but true. I'm starting to think that everyone's wrong and I'm not crazy at all. And I'm starting to think that I might, in fact, be 100% right and about to make the biggest historical breakthrough...ever.

* * *

A/N:

Hey guys!

Just a heads up that I will update as fast as I can, but I'm having to brush up on my Ancient Egypt knowledge because I'm a little rusty so I spend a lot of time having to research and double check facts before I post. So be patient with me but my goal is an update every 1-2 weeks :-) Which sounds long but really isn't haha!

So tell me your thoughts about the new chapter! I want to know if you liked it and what you think it is that Arnold has a theory about! Tell me tell me!

Your reviews on the last chapter were wonderful! Keep them coming...I'm able to write faster the more reviews I get because they help to keep me pumped and inspired!

Until the next chapter!

Love,

Arnold's Love


	4. The Eye of Wadjet

"The Shadow Around His Heart"

By: Arnold's Love

* * *

Chapter Three:

"The poor guy can't decide what to do first," Lindsey says, her voice laced with amusement. "Should he translate the walls or should he translate the sarcophagus? Or maybe he should move the mummy out of here. Or he could open the next tomb and quickly put the mystery of what's inside there to rest and possibly discover an awesome, fully intact mummy and a tomb full of treasure? Oh, the drama!" she wails exaggeratedly, placing her hands on her cheeks, mouth gaping open in mock shock.

Lindsey, always the epitome of distracting, sarcastic comments. I kind of heave an annoyed sigh and narrow my eyes at her. Despite her insulting recap of my current position of choices making it sound like an obvious choice, there's still a lot to think about. My sometimes overly organized brain would say I need to take this all a step at a time in a logical order...finish what I started with Mutnofret's mummy and _then_ worry about this new tomb door. But of course, I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that this new discover has definitely more than piqued my interest. So it's basically a battle with the logical side of my brain and my ever inquisitive, curious side.

"I vote we open the tomb first," Soren volunteers from the other side of the room where he is examining the newly discovered tomb door. "That ol' pharaoh's wife been there for thousands of years already, she can wait a little longer before we move her. I want to see what's in the next tomb," Soren exclaims, trying to peak through the non-existent cracks around the alabaster stone door. "Hey Arnold, did you see there's another one of those wadj-a-ma-call-it creepy eye things on this door too?"

Finally pulling my eyes away from the wall reliefs I've been staring at while trying to make my decision, I walk over to see what Soren is talking about. Sure enough, there on the ancient tomb door, surrounded by hieroglyphics is a large Wadjet symbol etched on the center of the door, underneath what I deduce is the names of the tomb's occupants.

"It's called a Wadjet," I remind him. At this point I've reminded him of its name so many times at this point that I've given up on him ever focusing and listening enough to ever remember. Chemists.

"Don't pretend you don't know what it's called by now, you dork," scolds Soren's wife Sandy. She's a fellow Egyptologist and friend from college. This weekend she came down from Cairo to help us out with our new discoveries.

Soren waves her off. "Hey, just because you guys are Egyptologists doesn't mean us _simpleton_ chemist-osteologists are as knowledgeable as you are on all these creepy symbols," he teases, pursing his lips at her.

She punches him in the shoulder lightly. "Are you this bratty when I'm not here? Or are you just showing off because you missed me?" she asks him, her hands on her hips.

"Psh. I don't have to show off I'm-"

"He's always like this," Antoinette comments from the other side of the room as she walks over.

"Whatever," he replies with an eye roll. "That's not true."

"I'm gonna go with what Antoinette says," Sandy giggles, elbowing her, while Soren playfully glares at them.

Softly chuckling, I turn back towards the door. "You know I haven't actually looked at this door yet, I mean you did _just_ find it," I comment with a broad smile.

Pulling out my notebook I start to study the hieroglyphics to translate what I assume are the names and titles of those who are buried inside. I've found that writing down the sound of each hieroglyphic as I decipher them, and then translating to English from there kind of helps me to piece together the words faster. The others crowd around me waiting to hear what the translation will be.

Finally after a few minutes I clear my throat, ready to read back the short phrases I just decoded. " _Son of Great Warrior King Thutmose and wife Mutnofret; Prince Ramose-born of Ra-great warrior and beloved of his father_ ," I read pointing to each part as I speak the translation. "That's the first part there," I repeat, before pointing to the second part. "This next part here says: " _Daughter of Great Warrior King Thutmose and wife Mutnofret; Princess Neferubity-beauty of the two ladies-pure and beloved by all._ "

"The two ladies?" asks Soren, running a hand through his dusty hair. "What's that mean?"

"Well, that's what her name, Neferubity, means; the beauty of the two ladies...which means she was like the beauty personification of the two ladies of Egypt: Wadjet and Nekhbet. They were the deities of lower and upper Egypt respectively. Eventually they were worshiped by all of Egypt once the two parts of Egypt were unified, and then they became known as the two ladies. Thus 'the beauty of the two ladies.'"

"Thanks for the history lesson and all," Lindsey teases with a grin, "but I think there is only one obvious choice here: open the tomb!"

Sandy grins at me. "Well, I'm kind of hoping you decide open it before I have to head back to Cairo on Monday, but it's your decision, of course, Arnold." Of all our team, she is probably the most nerdy and dedicated aside from me. She's been obsessed with Egypt since she was a child. But once getting pregnant a few years ago, she spends most of her time in Cairo raising their sons and comes down about once a month or so to help out. It's always refreshing and helpful when she comes down, she often spots things we've missed when we get stuck focusing on the big picture for too long. She is also exceptionally good at translating, which helps ease to the pressure off me when it comes to deciphering.

"Who'd have thought I'd ever have to make this decision?" I laugh, happy and yet overwhelmed by all that has surpassed in the last few days. I've been on this constant adrenaline high that has yet to subside, the days ahead are full of new discoveries, translating, documenting, and more-and I can hardly wrap my head around it all. It's definitely a dream come true that's unfolding in front of my eyes, leaving my shocked mind behind as time doesn't stop and wait for me to catch up.

All eyes are on me, waiting with baited breath for my decision. "Well," I finally breathe, slowly glancing over at Mutnofret's sarcophagus. "Soren's right. Mutnofret's been alright this long, I think she can wait a little longer so we can open this new tomb!"

Cheers from my friends and teammates echo across the chamber's walls as they all high-five excitedly.

"Man, Arnold," Lindsey laughs, "I thought for sure you were gonna make us wait to open this door."

"And I was over here sweating bullets that I'd miss out on all this," Sandy giggles, relieved. "Way to string a gal along, Arnold," she teases.

"Glad you didn't let us down. Now, let's do this," Soren says, handing me a lantern and nodding towards the door. "After you."

* * *

"Two more mummies! Man, Arnold, I just can't get over this. It's extraordinary!" Soren exclaims shaking his head in disbelief. He pats me on the back jovially, "Thanks to you, I'm having the experience of a lifetime."

"And I'm so glad you chose to open the tomb today so I could be a part of this! It's like a dream come true," Sandy beams, standing back and taking in the scene before us. "All that studying finally paying off, eh?" she asks, elbowing me.

I smirk back at her with an eyebrow raised. "Yah, I guess," I joke as she laughs with me.

Eagerly looking down at the two mummies again, she states, "This one looks like it's Prince Ramose and this one Princess Neferubity."

Nodding in response, I look down as well. Prince Ramose's chest is smashed in much like Mutnofret's was and some of his wrappings are missing revealing the mummified corpse beneath, however, Princess Neferubity's mummy looks almost pristine in it's wrappings, only an outer layer of bindings missing. "It looks like the grave robbers got to Ramose but were either stopped or didn't finish with Neferubity for some reason," I state thoughtfully, looking down at the princess's mummy.

"Probably because she cursed them with her mummy voodoo," Soren remarks from across the room. Lindsey snorts in response and Sandy and I just exchange unimpressed looks.

"Dork," Sandy mumbles playfully under her breath.

I let out a small chuckle and start to turn away from the mummies when the light from my lamp reflects on something and catches my eye. Turning back, I lean closer, looking down curiously, my heart rate slowly increasing and my brain trying to keep myself calm.

"What is it, Arnold?" Antoinette asks, noticing my reaction as she comes to stand next to Sandy while I reach down towards the mummy.

"I thought I saw..." I say carefully, not wanting to get their hopes up-or my own.

"Me too," Sandy whispers solemnly, standing on her toes and leaning forward so she can see down into the sarcophagus better.

Holding my lantern as close to the mummy as possible I reach down towards it where I saw the glint of light. There it is again! A golden glint coming from under Neferubity's wrappings. With a quick intake of breath Sandy takes the lantern from me and holds it in position so I have both my hands free. The other three silently come closer to stand behind us to see what I've found. Carefully, my heart thumping in excitement, my breath held in, my fingers shaking slightly, I gently push aside the wrappings to look beneath.

With a quiet gasp, Sandy holds the light up higher, as I grin widely while the others hover around. Beneath Neferubity's wrappings is a beautiful Egyptian necklace of gold and precious stones. It's a gold Wadjet amulet inlaid with lapis lazuli, obsidian, and pearl, glittering up at us in the lantern light. I'm so excited I feel like jumping up and down or dancing or something, but I remain frozen in pure thrilled shock instead.

"It's beautiful," Sandy breathes from beside me. "It's a Wadjet again," she observes, caressing it softly.

Soren claps loudly from behind us. "Whoo hoo! This just keeps getting better!"

"Dang, this family and their Wadjet symbols," Lindsey remarks, gazing at the necklace where it lays on the chest of a mummy.

"Yes, they do have quite an affinity for the goddess Wadjet," I remark, not remembering to coverup the suspicious and somewhat knowing sound to my voice.

"There's something you aren't telling us, isn't there, Arnold?" Antoinette questions me, watching me suspiciously, while the others celebrate the find behind us.

Before I can decide how to answer, Sandy calls from across the room. She's shining her lantern where she is gazing up at a wall. "Did you notice this, Arnold?"

Coming to stand next to her as Lindsey and Soren exclaim over the Wadjet necklace behind us, I shine my own lantern onto the wall with Sandy's. I try to ignore the way Antoinette is still looking at me skeptically. The wall relief is an extremely intact and beautiful painting of what, I can only assume is Lady Mutnofret, Prince Ramose, and Princess Neferubity by the shores of the sea. Neferubity is holding a blue lotus flower, reaching out almost as if she is about to toss it into the sea.

"Look, Arnold," Sandy murmurs pointing to their faces, "I think they're crying."

Looking back I realize she's right. The figures, dressed in white linen, are posed in such a way that is common in Egyptian reliefs of mourners-crying, arms thrown in the air representing their agony and grief. Mutnofret is on her knees, her arms in front of her face in despair.

"You're right," I reply, tracing the images softly with my finger. "They're mourning something."

I can't stop the warmth and sudden thrill flowing through my body as I gaze at the painting. I know it sounds weird-feeling this way about a painting of people and their grief-but it may be a sign that I haven't been working and searching in vain. It could be nothing, or it could be everything. It could be exactly what I hoped to find.

My eyes dart over the accompanying hieroglyphics, not even knowing where to start, but hoping for an answer. I spot the words a few recognizable words, but nothing really fitting what I'm looking for. Before I can really start translating Sandy lets out a sardonic whistle and shoots me a grin. "Wanna 'team double time' it?" she asks, her eyes flashing with excitement.

Nodding to each other, we both look back to the wall, pulling out our notebooks. "Soren, it's time," she states in a dramatic, TV show narrator type voice.

He rolls his eyes with a chuckle and takes the lantern from her, holding it up so she can write. Antoinette comes over and grabs my lantern doing the same for me.

"Ready...steady...go!" Sandy shouts gleefully and begins translating her side of the hieroglyphics as fast (but as accurately) as she can.

"Team Double Time" is something Sandy and I developed back in college and continued when we started on this excavation. Sandy specializes in Egyptian hieroglyphics as well and we were in all our language classes together. So we started a study group together where we'd do what we called "Team Double Time," where we would take a piece that we had to translate, split it in half, and then race to translate our section as fast as we could. It was a way we could get everything translated faster and avoid feeling overwhelmed. Soren had learned that if Sandy said those words, it meant she needed him to grab her lantern and hold it up for her so she could see the hieroglyphics better.

"And...done," I say after a while, finishing my last word.

"Me too," she replies, looking back over her notes. "Interesting."

"Thank goodness, I thought my arms were going to fall off. Can't you translate an ancient writing system any faster?" Soren taunts, smiling down proudly at his wife.

"I should really work on that shouldn't I?" she teases back, giving him a quick kiss.

"So what's it say?" Lindsey asks in a bored voice from across the tomb where she is sitting half-asleep.

I begin to recite my half of the inscription: _"Now it so happened that when the late King Thutmose I was potent king of this entire land, one of these days a great evil entered the Great House and took hold of His Majesty. When it became apparent that he would move on to The Eternal Paradise, his Majesty said to the seal-bearer who was at his side: 'Go and fetch for me the royal princes.'_

 _"They were ushered in to him immediately, and they prostrated themselves before His Majesty. And His Majesty said to them: 'My sons, I have caused you to be summoned in order that you may hear my words. Great evil hath taken hold of my khat and I shall soon fall to the end of this life and move onto the Eternal Paradise-The Field of Reeds. It needs be that I proclaim a successor to the throne of all Egypt. As ye know, my sons, Prince Wadjmose, Great Overseer of Soldiers, is the eldest and I have reared him all his life to be the next king. It is he I have chosen to rule. He shall be a wise and strong ruler and bring much gladness and blessings from the gods to all of Egypt.'_

 _"The princes again prostrated themselves before His Majesty. Prince Wadjmose rose next, then said he: 'I shall do all thou hast taught me, great King, and I shall make thee over-flowing with pride in the afterlife as thy Ba shall watch over thy kin and thy country.'"_

"Don't stop now," Soren complains in a mock whisper, "it's just getting good."

Sandy elbows him with an annoyed huff, before continuing where I left off: _"His Majesty nodded, his face shone with proud approval. Then said he, 'Now, my sons, should something happen to Prince Wadjmose, Prince Amenmose shall instead succeed the throne. If not he or Prince Wadjmose, then Prince Thutmose, following with Prince Ramose after.'_

 _"Prince Wadjmose left his father's chamber in preparation to become king. But it was not to be. Princes Wadjmose and Amenmose with their families disappeared soon thereafter, leaving behind their kingdom, their royal duties, and their heartbroken, grieving mother, brother and sister. Lady Mutnofret was forevermore in great despair of heart. Prince Ramose, and Princess Neferubity never recovered, but never gave up hope that they would again see their beloved brothers._

 _"His majesty, Great King Thutmose I left this world soon thereafter and his son Prince Thutmose II married his sister Hatshepsut and together ruled the throne of Egypt._

 _"Lady Mutnofret left this life from the agony of a broken heart. Her heart hath been found righteous against the Feather of Ma'at. There hath not been found any wickedness in her; she hath not committed any evil acts; and she had not set her mouth in motion with words of evil whilst she was upon the earth. The gods will grant her heart mending and the chance to again meet her son in the Eternal Paradise where all the worthy and pure of heart go,"_ Sandy finishes quietly.

We all stand in silence for a few moments pondering what we've just read and heard. My mind spins at the renewed realization that this story...this painting...these words are the descriptions of the actual lives of these people. These words express an event in the life of these mummies-long since passed on and buried-but alive again in the work of the Pharaoh's scribes. As if their ancient desire to live on forever has, in even this small way, come true. A small memorial to who they once were and what they experienced and went through. It's a humbling thought...an overwhelming reminder that I'm just an insignificant person who, once dead and buried, will be remembered by very few and eventually be forgotten entirely. These hieroglyphics are testament to the ancient Egyptians and their desire to never be forgotten and lost like most of us will be.

"Gosh, that's so sad," Sandy whispers at last, wrapping her arms around Soren's waist. "I wonder what happened to the princes and their families. And their poor mother."

"Why would you disappear when you're about to be Pharaoh...I mean PHARAOH!" Soren exclaims jokingly. "Hello? Ruler of all ancient Egypt?"

Sandy lets out a huff and rolls her eyes at him. "Missed the point much?"

"Maybe they didn't leave by choice. I feel like there's a lot unspoken in those words," Antoinette says thoughtfully, eyeing me warily. She's starting to suspect I'm holding something back...I'm not sure what I did or said to give myself away, but she's been watching me closely the entire day.

Avoiding her eyes I shrug nonchalantly. "Maybe."

Glancing back up at the wall painting, I'm momentarily struck by the beauty and melancholy of the image and its text again. The artist captured the aching sadness of the family in such a striking way. The ancient scribe's words almost poetic in their retelling of the story. Poor Mutnofret and her family-losing half of her family and never knowing what happened to them. A heartbreak and suffering I know only too well.

* * *

It's night and the others are in the main tent together talking and laughing over dinner. Standing outside in the dark I can see their silhouettes against the bright lights inside. Normally I'd join them, but the excitement from the day-well, from the past few days-is making me feel overwhelmed, so tonight I feel the need to escape for a little bit.

Glancing towards the entrance of the tomb, I feel a wide smile spread across my face. Maybe I'll go take another look at our newest discoveries and Neferubity's beautiful Wadjet necklace. Maybe one last look, alone, will help soothe my mind enough so I can relax and maybe even get some sleep.

To think that we found three mummies is unbelievable...but the idea that one of them still has at least one piece of untouched treasure with them is just too incredible. I haven't been able to think or focus about anything else. I can't help rubbing my hands together in excitement as I head down into the tomb, the laughing voices of the others slowly fading awa as I go deeper.

It's darker than usual in the tomb tonight. We don't usually work in them at night because in the day if we even get a smidgen of the sunshine in there it helps, but at night there's not even that. So one lantern is very little light to go on. If I were superstitious I would probably be feeling more freaked out right now then I do, being down in an ancient Egyptian tomb, at night, alone with three ancient mummies. Luckily I learned from my grandmother that superstition only holds on to you if you let it. So for now, I'm just slightly unnerved.

Making my way through Mutnofret's tomb I proceed into the adjacent tomb of Ramose and Neferubity. The lantern in my hand only casts enough light to see a mere foot or so in front of me, so I tread lightly, being careful not to trip. Finally arriving at Neferubity's sarcophagus, I lean over and look down. There, illuminated by the lamplight, is the Wadjet necklace. I gaze down at it and feel a slight surge of pride come over me at my find, and you know, for a moment I let that emotion stay...usually I avoid such feelings, but tonight, I am in fact very proud of all I've accomplished. So I think it's ok to feel that one, just this once.

Strung on a necklace of faience beads, gold backs and outlines each precious stone. Vibrant lapis lazuli smoothly outlines the eye and eyebrow. Pearl is inlaid between the brow and eye, slightly cracked from age, but still beautifully iridescent. An obsidian pupil stares back at me, as if gazing at me through a fracture in time bridging the gap between now and thousands of years ago. A chill runs up my spine for a moment as I stare back a the Wadjet...as if perhaps the goddess Wadjet herself, protector of Egypt and its crown is gazing back at me through this necklace. As if she-through the eye of the amulet- is warning me to tread carefully...warning me that the path I am heading down may very well bring my own destruction. I'm transfixed as I stare back, my thoughts spinning quickly...like Wadjet is drinking in my thoughts, my feelings...my memories...it's like she can read my every thought. Without thought I reach forward to touch the necklace...something only Sandy has done so far, but now my hand is drawn to it, as if being pulled by an invisible string.

Tenderly I run my fingers over the smooth stones, tracing their shape. A kind of electricity immediately rushes through my body starting at my finger tips and I feel like I have been transported back in time as my mind imagines an addendum to the story we read in the hieroglyphics. And through Princess Neferubity's own eyes I see more of the story laid out for me.

 _"Why must thou go, Wadjmose? How shall I bear this existence without thee?" I say, tears streaming down my face._

 _My elder brother, Wadjmose, turns away from our mother and looks at me-strong, stalwart and handsome-looking ever the part of an Egyptian prince. His black braided wig sitting atop his head, adorned by his golden crown. The elegant symbol of the crown prince of Egypt, with The Uraeus-the cobra representation of the goddess Wadjet-at its center. The black kohl eyeliner around his eyes compliments his tanned skin and deep, green eyes. A pleated, white kilt of the softest and finest linen hangs around his waist, held in place by an elaborately ornate belt. Around his neck, beneath his lapis lazuli and gold weskhet collar is his favorite amulet-that of a beautifully created Eye of Wadjet, a personification of that great goddess he was named for. It was a gift from Lady Mutnofret, our mother, on his twentieth year of birth and crafted with great care and attention to detail-made from lapis lazuli, pearl, obsidian and strung on a string of colorful faience beads._

 _Moving his strong hands to my face he cups it gently. "Thou shalt be fine, dear one. Mother shall care for thee and I shall rest easy knowing thou art safe and cared for."_

 _Tears continue roll down my cheeks even as I wipe at them bitterly. "But I shall miss thee more than my mouth can express," I reply, a deep aching pain taking hold of my heart. "Cannot thou take me with thee?"_

 _Hugging me close, he kisses my cheek softly, tears pooling on his cheeks as well. "Little sister, I shall miss thee too. But we know not where we go and we only know it shall be very trying. Thou wilt be most comfortable and content here with Mother and Ramose." Sliding his hands away he reaches up and unclasps the amulet from his neck. "I want thee to have this, Little Sister. It shall be a way for our hearts to be connected together forever. And it is Wadjet's sign and she shall protect thee in my absence." Gently he clasps it around my neck, a tear falling from his eyes. "For protection, royal power, and good health, oh goddess Wadjet," he prays on my behalf._

 _Looking down at the beautiful necklace, I trace its lapis lazuli outline with my finger tips. "I shall wear it always and forever, Wadjmose. For all eternity."_

 _"I love thee," he whispers to us. He runs a hand down my cheek one last time before turning to leave where Amenmose and their families await._

 _I feel Mother's hands around my waist and her head on my shoulder, tears fall onto the soft linen of my dress. Ramose steps up beside me, putting a comforting hand on my opposite shoulder. "All will be well, Neferubity," he says with confidence, as we watch the boat with my brother and his family float away down the Nile to whatever end shall be._

 _Leaving the comfort of my brother and mother I step to the edge of the sea, tears still spilling from my eyes; like the tears that the goddess Isis cried when she returned to find the body of her husband Osiris missing. Taking a blue lotus from my hair I whisper a prayer to the god Horus and to goddess Wadjet to protect my brothers and their families and guide them to a place where they can be safe once more, before tossing the flower into the sea._

"Arnold?"

With a small surprised gasp, I'm back at the sarcophagus, staring down at the mummy of Princess Neferubity. I spin around to see who spoke, only to see Antoinette standing a few feet behind me. Her face is lit only by the lantern in her hand and she's looking at me with her brows furrowed and her mouth slightly open in shock.

"Arnold? Are you...okay?" she asks finally, stepping closer, raising her lantern and peering into my face. "You're crying."

Gingerly I raise a hand to my face, touching my cheek softly. With a slight intake of breath, I'm shocked at the moisture I feel there-moisture caused by my own tears.

* * *

A/N:

Okay, you guys...I am so excited for this chapter and even more exciting for the next one! Ooh, boy! I hope you liked this one!

If you'd be so kind, in your review I'd like to know a few things:

Let me know what you thought about all the ancient texts I wrote.

Are you enjoying the OCs? I'm having some fun with them for now, as most of them are only temporary.

Do you have any suspicions or predictions you'd like to share with me? No wrong answers here, I totally just want to know if I'm doing my job right.

And most importantly, are you intrigued and enjoying this story?

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys, you have no idea how much the feedback helps and inspires me!

Lastly, I want to thank AibouFTW, for her help and friendship! I would probably *still* be writing this chapter if it wasn't for her! Thanks, girl, you are amazing!

Love,

Arnold's Love


	5. The Goddess Wadjet's Protection

"The Shadow Around His Heart"

By: Arnold's Love

* * *

Chapter Four:

I spin around to see who spoke, only to see Antoinette standing a few feet behind me, her face lit only by the lantern in her hand. She's staring at me in shock, her brows furrowed and eyes wide.

"Arnold? Are you...okay?" she asks finally, stepping closer, raising the lantern and peering into my face. "You're crying."

Gingerly, I raise a hand to my face, touching my cheek softly. With a slight intake of breath, I'm shocked at the moisture I feel there-moisture caused by my own tears.

Glancing back up at Antoinette, she's still looking at me with a kind of worried, pleading in her eyes-begging me for an explanation. Fleetingly, I look back down at my hand still surprised to see all this residue from my tears. My eyes shift back up to her face again. Her brows are still furrowed, and she looks so confused.

"Is everything ok? What happened?" she asks again, her voice timid and unsure. "I've...I've never seen you cry before."

I open my mouth to answer, but no words come. Honestly, I'm not really sure how to answer. I don't think my friends realize that I daydream so much or so intensely...I mean I just made myself cry. Who does that? I don't really want to admit that me-a full grown man-cried because of a _daydream_ , but I'm not really sure what else to say. While I realize the story of Neferubity and her family, and my consecutive daydream of their parting was sad and would be enough to make me cry, I'd be wrong to say that's the only reasons. If I dig deeper and am honest with myself, I have to admit, more then anything, I think their story hits a little too close to home. Missing family members, never to be seen again with no closure as to what ever happened to them and other's left behind...alone. If that's not something I can relate to, then I don't know what would be.

As much as I love my friends and teammates, I've never told them much about my past. Not because I don't trust them to understand, but because it's hard enough to think about, let alone talk about without breaking down. And I've never been big on revealing my true feelings-my deepest feelings and despairs-to others. I'm better at hiding them and helping others deal with their own instead. I like to keep mine hidden, personal, and as deep inside possible instead of on the surface.

Antoinette's still looking intently at me...watching me closely and waiting for a response. Slowly opening my mouth again, still not sure what to say, I almost sigh with relief when I hear voices coming from the entrance to the tombs above us.

"Isn't it like your job to notice when your team members disappear?" Sandy's voice echoes down from above us, slowly getting louder as she gets closer to the entrance.

"Psh," Soren responds, obviously irritated. I'm sure they've been at odds about it the whole walk over. "Isn't it _your_ job to notice when your translating B.F.F. is M.I.A.?"

"Well, hello Acronym-Man, we meet again," Sandy laughs finally. "You don't think he actually went down there...at _night_ do you?" she adds, trepidation obvious in her voice. "It's really dark down there."

"I don't know...maybe," Soren replies nonchalantly. "It's not _that_ dark. You've got a lantern. Go get him."

"I'm not going down there. Haven't you heard of the mummy's curse?" Sandy exclaims, her voice rising. "Brendan Fraiser would _not_ approve."

"Brendan Fraiser would go in guns blazing."

"So pull out your guns, hot stuff," Sandy cajoles, a smile evident in her voice.

I feel myself grin over at Antoinette. We could call up and tell them we're down here, but it's much more amusing to see where the conversation takes the couple. Those two amaze me...perfectly quirky in their relationship, perfectly complimentary in their opposite personalities. I can't help but hope I find that same kind of relationship someday. _Someday_ when I can move past my current endeavors and spend time focusing on finding someone.

"Unnecessary...he's not down there."

"How do _you_ know? What? Are you omnipresent now? Are we feeling a little scared?" she teases.

"No. I'm just not going to go down there looking for Arnold," Soren replies, trying to sound indifferent, but obviously not wanting to venture down into the tomb either. "I seriously doubt he's down there. And even if he is, maybe he just wants some space, some alone time. You were talking an awful lot at dinner, Miss Chatty-Kathy."

"Uh-huh. Riiiiight," Sandy replies her voice unconvinced as she draws out the last word.

"Fine," he groans. "I'm also not going down there because it's dark and creepy and you've made me watch too many Mummy movies."

"Ha! I knew it!" she giggles at him, her voice laced with smugness.

"Oh, be quiet, Sandy."

"No way! For once I'm not the only one scared of the dark. Boom. Check it. Better recognize, son," Sandy laughs. I can imagine her doing a bit of a victory dance, like I've seen her do in the past.

Through my laughter I finally call up to them. "Guys, we're down here."

"Well, then come up here already," Soren yells back. "What are you standing around down there for?"

"Yeah, Soren's afraid the mummies are going to get you," Sandy's giggling voice calls.

"Be quiet, Sandy. No, I'm not," Soren's hushed voice scolds.

"Psst...he's lying," she says in a sing-songy voice.

"Stop it."

"Don't worry. We're coming up. You won't have to come down here, Soren," I chuckle. I hear an annoyed groan from him and turn to Antoinette. Gesturing towards the stairs, I wait for her to go first.

"Arnold, I think-" she begins.

"Come on, we're moving the mummy in the morning, we should probably get some sleep," I interrupt, wanting to avoid any more questions or attempts on her part to get me to reveal my feelings.

When she just frowns at me, I shrug casually and turn, heading up the stairs to meet Soren and Sandy who is still teasing him about being scared of the dark.

* * *

Moving a mummy from out of its tomb is a very tedious and painstaking process. In layman's terms, you have to make sure that you've taken pictures of every possible detail. Then you need to double, and even triple-check that the mummy is in good enough condition and it won't completely fall apart when you lift it out-a rather big concern we had about Mutnofret, considering the damage done by grave robbers. And finally, you have to ensure that you have something sturdy and large enough to carefully carry it in, particularly since you have to take it up out of the tomb while hopefully keeping it in one piece.

We've been up since the crack of dawn getting everything ready. We've decided that besides the bones that had been scattered around the floor and already collected, Mutnofret's still pretty well intact and therefore, should move quite easily. I'll be sure to mentally keep my fingers crossed, since my current activities are keeping my hands busy.

And while I'm pretending not to notice, Antoinette's been watching me all morning...with this wary expression on her face, so I've been avoiding her completely. I hope my acting skills are good enough that it hasn't been too obvious that I pretty much run in the other direction whenever I see her approaching. I might have a problem. I mean who else is this extreme when it comes to sharing their feelings? Maybe I should talk to someone about that...ha! Just kidding!

For the moment, I think I'm safe though. Antoinette's down in the tombs with Lindsey. They're making sure there are no trinkets left after Soren and Sandy lift the mummy out of the sarcophagus, while I wait up top so I can help them come out of the tombs without damaging the mummy or losing their grip. Ideally she'll be occupied for a while so I can breathe easily.

Soren and Sandy are coming up now, I can hear them talking-more like arguing about who should go first and how they should hold the stretcher with the mummy on it. Maybe I should have lifted it out with Sandy, and let Soren oversee and help us up the stairs. Sandy's at the head and Soren at the end as they carefully lift Mutnofret up the stairs towards the threshold where I'm waiting.

"Ok, Arnold, ready to grab that end while we lift it up?" Soren asks from a few steps lower then Sandy, making sure to hold the stretcher high so it doesn't tip and send the mummy flying down the stairs to its destruction.

"Maybe the question should be 'are you ready, Soren?'" Sandy remarks. "I mean after what happened in Luxor last year..."

Her only response is an annoyed huff from the bottom of the stairs where Soren's standing.

While sharing a grin with Sandy, I take the upper end as she slides her hands down the side of the boards as they guide it out of the entrance, keeping it perfectly level at all times. Once it's clear of the door Sandy comes and takes this end of it from me again.

"Thanks, Arnold, we'll take it down to the tent now," Soren smiles.

Antoinette's coming up out of the tombs. _Crap!_ What's she doing? She's supposed to be down there for a lot longer then this!

"Hey, Arnold, we need to talk," she says, with her dark eyes narrowed as she stares me down. All I can do is stand here, lamely pretending to oversee Soren and Sandy as they clear the stairs and begin heading towards the tent with Mutnofret's mummy. I guess it's time to practice the old acting skills again.

However, she looks pretty determined this time as she moves toward me and my brain starts panicking. I'm seriously panicking so much I think my feet are frozen in place.

Come on, Arnold. Good actors never reveal how much their freaking out.

Frantically, I look from Antoinette to Soren and Sandy before saying, "Oh, well, yeah, but I have to go help them with the mummy." Racing over to them, I grab a hold of one side almost tipping it. Nice one, Arnold.

"Hey, Arnold, not to overstep my bounds, but we've got this," Soren states as the two of them stop and stare at me inquisitively, cautiously righting the mummy that I so carelessly almost tipped over.

"No...I _really_ think I better help," I say quietly, with a big fake smile, hoping to convince Antoinette that I'm legitimately needed. If I'm believable enough maybe Antoinette will just leave and go back into the tombs to help Lindsey-like she's _supposed_ to be doing. (Apparently my team is not very good at following directions.) She's watching us with a hand on each hip and her jaw clenched as she basically glares at me.

Soren kind of grunts and I realize I'm almost tipping the stretcher again. "Seriously, Arnold-"

"Oh, just let him help, Soren. It's _his_ excavation. If he wants to help he can," Sandy says moving over slightly so I can fit better between them and she can counteract my blunders. "Thanks, Arnold."

Glancing sideways at Antoinette, I see her shrug with a sigh and head back down into the tombs. I feel myself sigh with relief when I realize Soren's clenching his teeth and looking at me.

"So, can we go yet? This old Egyptian chick's a lot heavier then you'd think," he says derisively.

"If I wasn't holding this side of the stretcher I'd punch you," Sandy tauntes from across the mummy.

"Yeah, let's go," I say as we carry Mutnofret into the prepared tent.

Once she's safely inside the tent and moved onto one of the tables, we take a step back for a second.

"So what's next, Arnold? Do you want me to take another sample for carbon dating?" Soren asks, pulling out his kit.

Refocusing on the task at hand and not the inevitable talk with Antoinette, I nod. "Yeah, let's do that. And while you're finishing up, Sandy and I can remove the rest of her wrappings and check for any other trinkets. then we'll start recording and photographing her."

"Aye, aye, captain," Sandy salutes with a wink.

Soren steps forward and starts to take a sample when Lindsey barges in and shouts, "Arnold! We've found something! Something we knew you had to see _right_ away!"

With a kind of surprised groan Soren walks over to her, pointing a scalpel at her furiously. "You've got to be kidding me, Lindsey. How many times do I have to tell you not to come barging in here yelling when I'm working?"

"Whatever, Soren," she replies sagely with an eye roll. "How am I supposed to know whether you're working or not?"

"Just assume I'm _always_ working. Got it?" he exclaims in exasperation, the scalpel frighteningly close to her face.

"Fine. Whatever." Turning back to me, she carefully holds out a yellowed papyrus scroll tied carefully with a string made out of reeds. "We found it in her sarcophagus. It's in _really_ good condition. We knew you'd want to see it right away."

This could be it! This could be the clue I've been searching for...that connection I've yearned for. Or it could be something as simple as _The Book of the Dead,_ a funerary text written by ancient Egyptian priests and buried with Mutnofret to aid her journey through the _Duat_ , the underworld, and into the afterlife. Either way, I can't wait to get my hands on it and begin the translation process. My heart is racing and my hands are shaking as Sandy squeals with excitement beside me, as I reach forward to take the scroll from Lindsey.

She's right. It's in astonishingly good condition. Soft and pliable, like an ancient Egyptian made it from a papyrus plant just yesterday. Even the color is still bright and unmarred. Untying the twine around it, I cautiously unroll it to find rows and rows of superbly preserved Egyptian script.

Sandy lets out a breath of delight as Soren leans in closer to get a better look.

"Watch that scalpel, buddy," Sandy quips with a sideways glance in his direction.

As much as I want to charge forward with the translation right this second, I can't. There's a bit of a process to translating Egyptian hieroglyphics into English. First you have to "transliterate" which to turn each picture symbol into the Egyptian consonants, followed then by identifying each word and translating it into English. Sometimes if you recognize a word in the hieroglyphics, you can skip the transliteration process and just immediately write down the content you've memorized, but for the most part, it's a pretty meticulous process. Now...consider this: the papyrus scroll found in Mutnofret's tomb isn't written in hieroglyphics but in hieratic script instead-a cursive writing form used by Egyptians as a quicker form of writing. So not only is it as tough as hieroglyphics to transliterate and then translate, but it's even more difficult to read because it's written quickly and in an almost calligraphic manner. It's like reading Ancient Egyptian chicken scratch.

I'm so curious to find out what this papyrus might hold, and maybe even get more clues towards proving my radical theory. But not only is translating a ridiculously long process, but while I'm trying to translate, we've also got three mummies to document and analyze, a decent amount of artifacts to document and record, wall reliefs to take pictures of and translate, and more digging to do. So I'm pretty sure it will be a few days before I can finish translating this.

It will have to wait and I'll have to find a way to be patient, I guess.

* * *

It's been a few weeks...and I've still only translated about a third of the papyrus. While it's very interesting and intriguing...it hasn't answered any of my questions yet, or given any answers. And, honestly, I'm exhausted. The heat's getting to me, we've been working all day to record and document everything found in the tomb, and there's a lot to be done with the mummies. I use my breaks or wait until night to translate the papyrus. It's not much time to translate, though, considering how tedious it is. And the lack of sleep is really starting to take it's toll.

Sandy offered to help translate, but I just feel like this is something I need to do alone. So she's focusing on translating and documenting what's written on the tomb's walls and on the sarcophagi; and Soren's working on carbon dating the mummies and other things we've come across; Lindsey and Antoinette are busy taking pictures and documenting all the items we've found. I purposely gave Antoinette that job because it's the most extensive and hopefully it will keep her busy for a long time. I'm still not ready to explain anything, and she's still determined to be told everything, even though it's been weeks, so it's my only defense right now. When I see her coming, I usually act super busy, engage someone else in conversation quickly, or literally book it away from her. I can't say I'm proud of my acting, but I have a feeling Mr. Simmons would possibly be proud. Wait, why am I reminiscing about my fourth grade teacher?

Anyway, I'm getting burnt out. I'm burning the candle at both ends and I'm starting feel it. Not that I'm complaining. We've made some amazing discoveries here; connected these mummies to a royal family, found some amazing funeral items, and more. So I'd never, ever give that up, but it's exhausting. And this heat is getting to me again. Seattle boy in Egypt...it's bound to happen, I guess.

Leaning back in my desk chair, I heave an exhausted sigh and rub my eyes. The last time I felt this way was...the day we found the tombs, months ago, when I had been about to send an email to Gerald asking him if I could visit for a sabbatical. I never sent that email-never even finished it-and I probably should at least check my email and send him a little line to let him know what's going on and see what's up in his life.

Carefully setting aside the papyruses and my papers, I open up my laptop and click on the email icon. The number 203 flashes in front of my eyes and for a moment I feel even more overwhelmed, until I realize that most of them are emails from the boarders. Cluttering my inbox are subject lines like: "Mr. Hyun's daughter is getting married", "Oskar's trying to take over the house", "Ernie's hiding C4 under his bed", "Oskar stole the refrigerator to pay off a debt", and lastly from Suzie, "Arnold, don't worry, everything's under control." I chuckle softly to myself, some things never change.

But then I notice an email that's different then the rest. It's stands out because it's from _The National Geographic_. Let me say that again: _THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC._ Excitedly, I click on it and begin reading,

 _Mr. Arnold Shortman, Egyptologist;_

 _We are writing you because your excavation and discoveries in Egypt have recently come to our attention. We are very fascinated with your find and its significance and connection to the royal family of Pharaoh Thutmose I. Not only that, but we have also been given your college thesis in which you had predicted these tombs, as well as their occupants and their connection to the royal family. We are very impressed by the work, insight, and dedication you have presented. You are highly praised by your college dean and professors alike._

 _We would like to have your permission to send one of our journalists to your site to interview you and write an article. It will focus on you and your teammates, your thesis, and recent discoveries, and how you predicted it all. We would like to take photographs as well, of course, to publish alongside the article._

 _Please respond at your earliest convenience and let us know when we can send our journalist out._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Jenna Caulfield_

 _Editor in Chief_

 _The National Geographic Society_

Ok, there's definitely a HUGE smile on my face right now. To have _The National Geographic_ notice our little excavation is pretty monumental. I can't wait to tell the others!

"Arnold," a voice says from the entrance to my personal tent. "We need to talk."

 _Face palm._

Of course, it's Antoinette...and she's pretty much cornered me in my own tent. My eyes dart around, searching for a way to escape.

"You know, I think you're right, but I've gotta go...check in with Soren and see if the carbon dating results are back yet," I inform, standing up and moving towards the exit, hoping to slip past her and continue avoiding this irksome conversation.

Putting her hand on my shoulder, she stops me. "Arnold, I'm not dumb. I know you've been avoiding me."

Oh no, I guess my acting wasn't up to par. Mr. Simmons would be very disappointed after all. I can't help but stop and look down at her, guilt probably written all over my face. Seriously, I thought I was a much better actor than this. I mean, I _was_ Romeo, and I didn't even have to audition. _And_ I kissed Helga G. Pataki without screaming. Actually, truth be told it wasn't as bad as I originally thought I wou-

"I know there's a lot going on, and I know you're stressed. But it's more than all that: I know there's something you're not telling me."

Stepping back away from her and into the tent I stare down at the floor guiltily before finally speaking. "Antoinette, you know me, right?"

She nods quietly, waiting for me to finish, her eyes full of hope.

"Then you've probably figured out that I'm the listener...the helper...the solver...I'm not the one on the other end. I don't like to talk about myself, I don't like to share my problems, despair, or heartaches, and weigh people down with them. I don't share my deepest feelings," I admit slowly. "So you should know that the _last_ thing I want is to be helped." Dropping my eyes to the floor, I hope that she just nods and leaves...leaves me to my own heartache.

But I see her boots step closer to me and feel her eyes on me, before she finally speaks. "Arnold, I _do_ know that. But I also know that sometimes the person who needs a friend the most-a friend who will listen, help or just comfort if need be-is the person most often doing that for others." I look up at her finally, feeling a lone tear on my cheek, a slight surge of frustration because of it, as she adds, "please let me be that for you. I'm not sure you've ever had that. And everyone needs that."

It would be nice to just let it all out...tell someone about it all. With my grandparents gone, and now my Aunt Mitzi...it's been a lonely road. No one to talk to-especially anyone who cared enough to listen. Maybe it's time. Time to let someone in. But the question is: Do I tell her _everything_?

"Have a seat then, I guess," I finally breathe, giving in and gesturing to a chair. It's probably more exhausting constantly avoiding her day in and day out, than just telling her a portion of what's been going through my head lately. "I guess you want to know why I was crying last week down in the tomb," I state, more then ask. "That's probably as good a place as any to start."

Taking a seat, she nods quietly, completely focused on me and what I'm about to share.

"Well, I was thinking about what we read on the tomb walls that night. About how Mutnofret's sons disappeared. And it hit close to home. So I went down there to kind of think about it all," I explain, pacing around the tent, my steps a little too frantic. My nerves are on edge. I guess that's what happens when you take a step out of your comfort zone.

"What do you mean, Arnold?" she asks, quietly.

I've never told my friends about my parents. About my story. It's not like they haven't asked...I just don't like to talk about it. When the childhood hope of my parents coming back gave out, and I was left with the cruel facts of life, I stopped talking about it to anyone and kind of just bottled it up inside. It was easier to deal with that way, instead of thinking and dreaming about it constantly. So by the time I met Antoinette and Sandy in college and then eventually Soren and Lindsey I had buried it so far down inside that I was used to avoiding their questions or concerns. Even now when the chance came to tell them...I still wanted to wait. Just put it off a little longer until things felt...right. I guess the time is now, whether I'm emotionally ready or not.

"My parents were scientists. My dad was an Anthropologist and my mom was a botanist. They actually met and married in South America while they were both down there working," I confess, my heart already hurting anew at these words leaving my mouth; knowing what words are to come.

"Well, that explains you, Arnold," Antoinette comments with a soft, comforting smile-likely already guessing where this story is headed.

"Yeah, I suppose," I reply quietly. Genetics likely only part of the reason I became an archeologist and am where I am today. "I was born there. And for a while we lived there until they decided that it wasn't really safe for me and we moved back to Hillwood. We all lived happily there in the boarding house until just past my first birthday. An old friend came and told them they were needed in South America again, for just one last time. They didn't want to leave, but they were likely the only ones who could do the job, and so they left...one last time," I murmur.

Looking up I see the sadness in Antoinette's eyes, as if she already knows how the story ends.

"But they never came back. Ever. Twenty-five years later and I still don't know what happened to them," I finally whisper through my tears. My heart's aching more then it has in a long, long time. The hole in my heart that's always there, that only grew with the passing of my grandparents and then Aunt Mitzi, feels ten times bigger then it has before...ten times more painful. I want to sob, or cry out to let it escape...to try to lessen the pain, but instead I clench my teeth and swallow it down again until it's a tight ball of agony inside my chest.

Before I can even register what's happening, Antoinette jumps up and throws her arms around me in a comforting hug. "Oh, Arnold. I'm so, so sorry," she says. "Mutnofret's story...it reminded you of the loss of your parents, didn't it?" she asks quietly.

I nod, unable to speak through my heartache and oncoming tears.

"Hey, Arnold," Soren's voice calls from the entrance as he walks in. "Oh great...mushy hugs. I'll come back later."

Sandy enters next to him and slaps his arm. "Oh, Soren, you know you love mushy stuff," she remarks, reaching up and grabbing his face, planting a huge kiss on his lips.

"Honey, not in front of the kids," he jokes when she pulls away.

Punching him lightly on the arm once again Sandy just shakes her head.

"What did you guys need?" Antoinette asks, giving me a chance to recover a bit from my emotional moment.

Sandy looks at me, a million questions written in her eyes, and I mouth to her that I'm okay as Soren continues on oblivious to anything else.

"We got the carbon dating results back if you want to see them, Arnold," he states, nodding towards the exit.

"Sounds good," I finally manage to say following him out.

Sandy puts a comforting hand on my shoulder as I pass, giving me a feeble smile. With her and Antoinette behind me, I follow Soren...knowing immediately that they are exchanging meaningful expressions about me back there.

* * *

Bending over the scroll and my translation papers at the dinner table I can't help but grin in amusement as my friends all talk around me.

"What did you cook tonight?" Lindsey's voice rings out through the empty valley. "Staring at dead, rotting mummies all day, makes me sooooo hungry."

"Nice, Lindsey," Antoinette chides, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Well, our neighbor in Cairo taught me to make all this," Sandy begins, carefully placing a heaping plate in front Soren. "This is called Macarona Bechamel, which is pretty much like and Egyptian version of lasagna. And this is Meamar Rice which translates to loaded rice. And those are figs, but I would hope you guys knew that. And for dessert we have Basbousa. Which is soooo heavenly! You might even die!"

"Psst. Guys, look at Soren," Lindsey laughs pointing at Soren who is already eating his food and smiling like a fool while doing so. "You know that saying, 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach'? I think that's how Sandy got Soren," Lindsey laughs, slapping Sandy on the back almost making her spill the plate she was about to put in front of Lindsey.

"I won't deny it," Soren says, his mouth full. "When you grow up eating porcupine stew in the Alaskan frontier, good food is a definite blessing."

"Well, considering that you're used to such things as porcupine stew, it's a good thing for us that Sandy actually _is_ a good cook and you're not just easily impressed," Antoinette teases.

"Porcupine stew? Is that even a thing?" Lindsey questions from across the table.

"When your mom doesn't let anything go to waste and she shot a porcupine that got into the garden, it is," Soren replies nonchalantly, still happily enjoying his dinner.

"Sorry to interrupt, guys..." I say slowly, trying to contain the exhilaration I'm suddenly feeling.

All eyes turn to me as I feel my pulse increase from the anticipation of what I'm about to say and the magnitude of what it might mean.

"Everything ok?" Sandy asks placing a drink next to my plate. She's been watching me like a mother hen since she saw the emotion in my eyes the day I finally told Antoinette about my parents.

"Oh, everything's great...I just finished translating the papyrus," I announce, goose bumps flooding my arms from excitement.

Cheers fill the tent and Sandy reaches down to hug me excitedly while jumping up at down.

"That's great, man," Soren says. "What is it about?"

"It's a letter," I reply, eagerness rising in my stomach. I've finished translating but haven't read it all through yet even to myself. "Do you guys want to hear it?"

"Well, duh," Lindsey says, pointing a fork at me, almost threateningly.

Taking a deep breath, I begin reading:

" _The Noble Prince Wadjmose, Prince of all Egypt, Great Overseer of Soldiers, from the great and magnificent royal city of Thebes writes to the Princess Mutnofret, King's Wife, mother of the Great Prince._

" _In life, prosperity, health_ _and favor of Amun-Ra, king of gods. Daily I pray to Amun-Ra and Osiris, the great gods; to Thoth, lord of Knowledge; to Wadjet protector of Egypt and its Kings; and to every god and every goddess which I pass by: May thee, Princess Mutnofret, be given life, prosperity, and health, a long lifespan, a great and beautiful old age._

" _My mother, how it pains my heart to tell thee these things that in due time I shall explain. It pains me to warn thee of the heartache that shall soon befall thee at my hands. I wish it were not so. But I have prayed daily to the gods for answers; prayed for another course to take-I have visited Lady Wadjet's shrine at The House of Wadjet and asked the question I feared the answer to. I was given an answer much to my heartache. I shall explain._

" _As The Great King is ill and convalescing in The Great House, Egypt looks to me to be their next king. Father, Great King Thutmose, has loved me and trained me, reared me in the royal ways; as well as my brother Amenmose, second in line. I would do it, Mother, do not doubt me. I would fulfill my duties and make thee and father proud as king. I would bring Egypt to a glory as to surprise all Egypt. I have been prepared for this role my entire life and was ready to accept what the gods had granted me, but I fear something sinister is set to befall me and bring tragedy to my family as well. Our very lives are in danger, Mother. Thy son Thutmose has joined with my half-sister Hatshepsut in a blood oath to gain the crown by any means necessary. General Nebmaatre, my esteemed friend and colleague, has told me of their plans. They have sworn an oath to kill Amenmose and me, and our families-to annihilate us and all that stands in their way-and in due course marry each other and secure the throne for themselves._

" _If thou noticed I was missing these past few weeks, it is because I traveled to The House of Wadjet to ask the oracle of Wadjet if my family shall die if I stay in Egypt. Her answer was clearly yes-my family and I shall perish if we stay._

" _So, dear Mother, it is with heavy heart that I must tell thee now of our impending plans. Please take heart, mother, we love thee dearly. Never forget this, never doubt it. Our hearts shall always be with thee. We would not wish to leave thee were there any other choice, but we have none. And we cannot bring thee with us, for where we go, we know not yet, and know not what might await us beyond the sea. It is safest for thee to stay-Nebmaatre has said that thou are not part of my brother Thuthmose's plans because thou art not heir to the throne._

" _Myself, my wife Asenath, and thy grandchildren, and Amenmose and Isetnofret are escaping. We shall leave as soon as the flood is at its height. We shall travel on the sea secretly-please tell this to no one-and Nebmaatre will aid us in our escape. We will not take much more than necessities and each other. We shall travel far, Mother, we know not yet how far. It must be far enough that our families shall be safe forevermore. But when we arrive at a land blessed by the beautiful goddess Wadjet, the green one, of whom I was named, we will know we are safe and there shall we stay._

" _We shall leave a sign for thee, dear Mother, in this new place. Wadjet has instructed me to do so and promised to reveal great wonders to me. And if the gods ever guide thee to us shall ever come upon our new home in this life or the next, then thou shall know that it is ours and we have been protected by the gods and have flourished-the sign of which I speak shall be the eye, the Wadjet, the symbol of the green one, and by it thee shall have thy heart comforted and know we are well._

" _We love thee, mother and pray to the gods thou shall have a long, healthy, prosperous life. Please take care of Neferubity. I shall miss my little sister; my beauty of the two ladies; my friend. Forever shall my heart ache to have her once again by my side, her friendship in my life. As well as thee, Mother._

 _My heart to the, Mother._

 _Thy green eyed son,_

 _Born of Wadjet (protector of Egypt, the green lady)_

 _Prince Wadjmose of Egypt"_

Silence fills the tent around us as we each individually ponder the words spoken straight from the hand of Prince Wadjmose, run out of Egypt by his own flesh and blood brother. But for me it's not only that. I finally have the last piece to the puzzle. The piece that will prove my silent theory not only correct, but far from insane.

Looking up at their sad, wide eyes I breathe in slowly. "Guys...there's something I need to tell you." The solemnity of my voice causes them to stare at me in bewilderment and a lump to form in my own throat.

* * *

A/N:

Sorry about the extra long wait, you guys! I hope you can forgive me and will still read and review! It was a really important, but very hard, tedious chapter to write (that ancient Egyptian letter alone was super tough). Not only that but my baby-brother got married, I was a bridesmaid, there was a wedding, a reception and an open house. On top of all that it was in Arizona and a whopping 117 degrees outside. Then I came home and was sick for a week (probably from dehydration and heat exhaustion). PLEASE review...the lack of reviews on the last chapter also stalled my creativity for a while, to be honest. So please remember to let me know what you think!

Anyway, some questions I have for you guys:

Did you like this chapter?

What was your favorite part?

Do you still like the OCs?

Did you enjoy the ancient letter?

Did you have a favorite dialogue/conversation/quote?

Do you have any thoughts, predictions etc about the plot so far?

Random snippet: My husband *did* grow up in Alaska where he did eat porcupine based meals whenever his mom caught a porcupine in the garden. And the way to his heart definitely *is* through his stomach, so it's really no wonder. Haha!

And lastly, do not worry...Helga will appear...it has to be at the right time...and I think you'll see why once she appears, so have faith and patience...she's nearer then you think. ;-)

Thanks for your support and reviews guys! And share this story please! I'd love it so much if you would!

Loves and hugs,

Arnold's Love


	6. San Lorenzo

"The Shadow Around His Heart"

By Arnold's Love

* * *

Chapter Five:

Looking up at their sad, wide eyes I breathe in slowly. "Guys...there's something I need to tell you." The solemnity of my voice causes them to stare at me in bewilderment and a lump to form in my own throat. A slight hint of guilt grow in my stomach at the knowledge that my friends and teammates will soon know I have kept a great deal from them.

"Oh my gosh," Lindsey breaks the silence, her brown eyes wide as saucers. "You're not...you're not dying or anything, right?"

Antoinette shoots a scathing look in her direction.

"Is everything ok, Arnold?" Sandy asks. Her eyes are wide with concern, until she realizes that Soren's still eating happily, completely oblivious to the somber statement I just made. She turns to him and moves her elbow to bump him in the ribs, but seems to change her mind. "Hey, Soren, Arnold's got some cake he doesn't want if you want it."

"More cake?" he exclaims, his blue eyes fairly glowing with anticipation.

"Cake's his kryptonite," Sandy explains with a smirk. "I knew it would get his attention."

"Whatever, Sandy, I totally don't like sweets. They make me feel sick," Soren remarks, leaning back in his chair, trying to regain his composure slightly, but still eyeing up my plate.

"Uh-huh...you like to brag like you're super healthy, but cake is your weakness. No arguing, you know deep down it's true. Besides, I lied. I was trying to get your attention because you weren't listening to Arnold."

"Psh. Whatever," he says, waving her off. "I was totally listening. Wadjmose eloped with his girlfriend and Arnold's about to announce that he's moving to Japan to take up cat collecting."

Sandy huffs and rolls her eyes, while Lindsey laughs boisterously next to her. "No."

"He's actually a wizard and he's heading to Hogwarts tomorrow?" Soren tries again, a faint smile escaping past his façade of innocence.

Sandy folds her arms and shoots him a fierce, reprimanding look.

"He's back…from the future!" he exclaims throwing his arms and widening his eyes dramatically.

"Yah…no," Sandy says with another eye roll and a shake of her head. "As much as I _appreciate_ you quoting my favorite movie, you get an F for listening skills. Now pay attention and I'm sure you'll catch up-you know since your _sugar-less_ brain is so healthy and what not. Go ahead, Arnold," she directs giving me a sad, caring smile.

Pausing for a moment I try to regain my thoughts after the cake conversation. "Well, I told Antoinette some of this the other day, but I think it's time I tell you guys… _everything_ ," I finally begin. "You already know I'm from Hillwood, Washington. But I wasn't born there. My parents were scientists working in Central America in the jungles of a place called San Lorenzo when they met. My dad was there with an anthropology research party and my mom was there working to find a cure for jungle illnesses."

"I didn't know you parents were anthropologists! That's so cool! Why didn't you ever tell us?" Sandy inquires excitedly.

"Well, I'm getting to that," I reply with a forlorn look. "Eventually they got married there and then later had me."

"You were born in Central America? That's so cool!" Lindsey exclaims, clapping her hands together.

"Yah, I guess it is. And actually it was during a volcanic eruption too," I tell them, feeling better from their apparent interest in my story. No obvious hurt feelings…yet.

"What? You're making that up!" Soren says, his mouth still full of food. Somehow he found more cake after all.

"No, I promise it's true," I laugh. "My grandpa told me about it when I was a kid and I thought he was making it up too. Then I read it in my dad's journal. So yah...born in Central America during a volcanic eruption." They all stare at me in silent awe for a few moments, and I chuckle slightly before continuing. "Anyway, before I was born, while they were working there at one point they were saved by a mysterious, elusive group of natives called The Green-Eyes-the original inhabitants of San Lorenzo. And feeling in debt to them my parents decided to help them as a kind of thank you. So they tracked down the local river pirate called La Sombra who had stolen a sacred relic from the Green Eyes, called La Corazón."

"Are you even for real? This is like some kind of super awesome movie!" Lindsey exclaims, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

"I'd watch that movie," Soren comments, pointing a fork at me. "This has Indiana Jones written all over it."

"Or Brendan Fraiser," Sandy adds with a teasing giggle in his direction. He just shrugs and tosses his head to one side, before taking another bite of his cake.

"I'm for real," I reply, slightly exasperated.

Don't get me wrong; I'm glad they don't seem to hate me…yet. But I should have expected that they would approach this whole thing like an action/adventure movie. I refrain from to urge to face-palm.

"They did end up saving it and returning it to the Green Eyes. They still never saw any of them though. But they gave them this: the symbol of their people in return," I state, holding out the charm I had found with my dad's stuff. The green eye stares back at us from my hand.

"Iit kind of reminds me of-" Antoinette begins, before I cut her off.

"I'm getting to that. After their honeymoon the Green Eyes fell sick and they only trusted my parents to save them. Long story short, they saved them-cured them all. But after I was born my parents decided that San Lorenzo was too dangerous of a place to raise a child and we moved back to Hillwood. But a few months later my dad's friend Eduardo came to tell them that the Green Eyes were sick again and that they were the only ones who could help them," I explain, slowing down now. The worst part coming. "They didn't want to go and leave me behind, but they knew the Green Eyes would die without their help. So, they decided to go…one last time."

I sense the moisture brimming in my eyes and almost feel angry at it. Here I am finally telling my friends about my past and stupid tears are going to mess it all up and render me unable to continue. I pause, breathing in deeply...their eyes on me, waiting for what I'm sure they were beginning to guess.

"But they never came back," I finally choke out. "I never heard from them again. And I never found out what happened to them."

It's when I pause, close my eyes, and try to bite back another onslaught of tears, that I finally notice how silent it is around the room. No snarky comments. No excited giggles. Nothing. I'm suddenly having that choked up feeling again, but not because of the emotion. It's from the utter silence, so tangible that it's actually hard to breathe.

Why is it so quiet? That was a pretty big bomb I just dropped on everyone. I don't know; maybe I was just expecting something more of a reaction, whether it's a gasp in shock, or a word of sympathy. But there's nothing.

Opening my eyes, I look around to see that everyone looks as silent as they sound. Their eyes are wide, brows furrowed in concern, as they stay frozen in their spots. Sandy's eyes are brimming with tears as the other girls stare at me in utter disbelief. Even Soren has stopped eating his cake. It seems as if everyone's enraptured by my story, hanging on my every word, saddened by the loss of my parents. Entirely unsure of what to say.

I guess I have no choice but to end the silence and continue. A deep breath and I proceed:

"After I found my dad's journal and learned all this I became a little...obsessed with finding them when I found a map. I went to college in hopes of becoming an archeologist and specializing in Central America. I learned to read the Green Eyes hieroglyphics from my dad's journal, and even published a book on their language. I eventually became one of only 2 living experts who can read their language. But then I found out that all Green Eyes archeological sites have been closed...closed since the disappearance of my parents actually. So in my sadness, I threw myself into another specialty...Ancient Egypt-something I have always been intrigued by and seemed like a good place to go from there. But as I began learning and studying towards a degree in Egyptology, something started to stand out to me...uncanny similarities between the language of the Ancient Egyptians and the Green Eyes, similar words and symbols...and in the very few pictures of statues etc. I found one site online of a Green Eyes archeology site...there were similarities to their architectural style and their dress on the reliefs and statues. Subtle similarities…but definitely there. And finally the Green Eyes symbol..." I say, pointing to the charm on the table in front of us. "Almost like an Aztec style Wadjet."

"Wait…you're saying that the Green Eyes are Egyptians?" Sandy asks. "Oh, man, that is like the awesomest thing ever!"

"Well, I started to wonder that. So if all that wasn't enough I found the family of King Thutmose...with a son named after the Goddess Wadjet-the green lady. Wadjmose, who disappeared from Egyptian history with no explanation. And I thought...if I could find a connection...even a thread of possible proof of a connection between the Wadjmose and the Green Eyes...perhaps I could use it as an in to reopen the digs in San Lorenzo and finally find out what happened to my parents. I published my dissertation on my theories of where the tombs were but left out the rest of my theory. People would only think I was crazy without proof. The same reason I never told any of you."

"But...Arnold...you've found it! You've found your proof! This letter! It's basically saying that Wadjmose and his family left...and used the sign of the Wadjet...which, sure, _changed_ over the years and became mixed with the local style, but...it's still the same," Sandy exclaims, hugging me in her excitement.

When she finally let go, I nodded solemnly. "So, that's what I needed to tell you. And as soon as we finish up here, I'm heading to San Lorenzo."

"Well, we're going with you," Soren says suddenly standing up and walking over to join us.

"You can't. You live here with your family," I replied, looking between him and Sandy, who was staring up at Soren in shock.

Soren shrugs. "We could use a vacation-a change of pace."

"Yah, well, that's a long vacation."

"Why not? It'll be a exciting," Soren states, with a nonchalant shrug. "I can be an archeological chemist-osteologist anywhere. I'm nothing if not adventurous, right? I can't let Brendan Fraiser show me up in front of my wife."

"Let's do it," Sandy says finally, linking her arm with his. "I've always wanted to go to Central America and see all that stuff. Plus, I'm kind of sick of the desert."

You and me both, sister. You and me both.

* * *

 _Hey, Gerald!_

 _What's up, buddy? Sorry, it's been a while since I wrote. I'm working in San Lorenzo now. Everything worked out since I told you about my discovery and that I was coming here. But I'm sure you want to hear about how that panned out._

 _Well, Soren and Sandy convinced me to go early ahead of them. They promised to finish up and report to me regularly. I mean we weren't even sure if we could convince the San Lorenzo government to let us excavate the sites or not. So it seemed like the smartest move._

 _The flight was long...almost 24 hours. And once I got to my hotel in Flores I crashed for a while. Even flying home to Hillwood last year from Cairo wasn't as long of a flight. So I was so exhausted. When I recovered eventually, I had a day before my meeting with the Director of the San Lorenzo's Institute for Anthropology and History, Eduardo Hernandez Morales Santiago. (What a name, right?) He's pretty much the one in charge of archeological sites in San Lorenzo so he's the one I had to convince to not only believe my theory, but also persuade him to allow me to be the one to work on the sites. If nothing else, I figured a sizeable donation might help._

 _When I walked into his office and he looked at me, I literally thought he was having a heart attack right in front of me. His eyes went big and he put a hand to his chest and stopped breathing for a second. I panicked and was about to call for help, but he stopped me._

 _It was not a heart attack-actually it was just complete shock. It turned out he is THE Eduardo...my father's college friend and fellow anthropologist. Small world, am I right? So when he saw me...saw the shape of my head and how much I guess I look like my mom he thought for a moment I was some kind of apparition. When the shock had worn off he hugged me and began chattering away._

 _It was weird to see him...kind of surreal really. I mean this was Eduardo. Eduardo from my dad's journal. Eduardo who knew my parents...who was probably one of the last people who saw my parents alive. A living, breathing connection to my parents-to their work in San Lorenzo-to their last moments. I'll admit it. We both cried there in his office as we hugged. It was probably the single most un-manliness moment I've had. You would have been embarrassed for me._

 _When we finally regained our composure we talked for a long time. He told me stories of my parents I'd never heard before. Stories of their adventures, their personalities, their knowledge and compassion, their love for each other. And I cried again. It was like I was finally getting to know my parents more than ever before and finally understanding even more why they would leave their baby son to go help a distant people._

 _When we finally talked about my original reason for meeting with him he didn't pause but immediately offered me full access to all the Green Eyed people's sites._

 _He told me that after my parents and the Green Eyed people had vanished, they closed all the archeology sites down. He said the locals feared them-even he and his co-workers feared them. Some even said they sensed supernatural things at work. They worried that La Sombra wanted La Corazon so badly that he would do whatever it took to get it. Either way, they felt it was too dangerous. As time passed and people soon forgot about the Green Eyes, he got the job as director, but continued to keep the sites closed. Both in honor of my parents and because of his deep sadness and regrets._

 _He told me that he never had plans to reopen the sites because he could not imagine anyone else besides my parents working on the site. But seeing me, he knew he could open them. That he could trust me enough to put me in charge of them. He could honor my parents by allowing me to finish what they started. So he gave me full permission to excavate the sites._

 _He was worried, however, by the lack of funds in their department, but I assured him that wasn't a problem, I was more than happy to pay for it. He offered his own help, telling me he'd gladly participate and step back into his old job as Anthropologist and help us. He also said he had an experienced Ethnobotonist and Environmental Archeologist named Richard on retainer. He will be a great help to my team as Lindsey is taking a job at The Valley of the Kings._

 _We got started the next day getting everything ready for my team to arrive. We chose which site we wanted to start on. Arranged for delivery of our needed equipment and resources, tents, food, etc. I can't tell you how excited I felt...so alive. More than I've felt in a long time. To be this close to my parents...standing on the soil of the last place they were, finishing their work, talking to their friend. Gerald, it's amazing. I'm in awe. And I'm so happy. I may never find out what happened to them, but I feel like even if this is all I get it, maybe it will mend even the slightest bit of my heart. I'll take it and run with it._

 _The teams all here now and we've been working for a few weeks on one of the oldest Green Eyed sites. Possibly their initial settlement, in fact. Soren and Sandy brought their kids along, which has made things interesting to say the least, but Eduardo's wife is happy to help and take care of them while they work. Spoiling them just like they are her own grandchildren. Antoinette came as well. It's nice to at least have the three of them from my old team here with me. I wish Lindsey would have come, but she loves Egypt more than anything else and wanted to continue working there. I don't blame her. Honestly, I'm surprised they all didn't stay behind. Richard, our newest team member is a quirky guy...so I think he'll fit right in with the rest of us._

 _Well, my break's almost over, Gerald, so I'll close up. One last thing-back when I was in Egypt you'll never guess who contacted me about my new discovery..._ The National Geographic Magazine _! That's right...they contacted me because they find me and my discovery interesting...they actually tried to contact me twice before I finally answered them...the second time after they heard about my "unique" theory about the connection between Egypt and Central America. But, hey, I'll just show them I'm right, right? I mean I'm already surprised at the similarities between the architecture of the Green Eyes site we're working on and the temples in Egypt. So, boom, check it. (Oh, geez. I'm hanging around Sandy too much, haha!) Anyway, they are sending their journalist down today, so I've gotta go make sure everything's good to go._

 _Talk to you later!_

 _I hope the family is doing well!  
Love you, man!_

 _Arnold_

As if on cue Richard sticks his head in my tent. "Hey, we're done with lunch, you ready to get to work or do you want us to go on ahead?"

Shutting my laptop and pushing back my chair I stand up and stretch. "Yah, I'm coming." I grin at the man's red face. "Hey, you gonna bring some sunscreen this time?" I joke, gesturing to his burned face and arms.

"Your momma needs sunscreen," he remarks, rolling his eyes.

Turning to head out of the tent we almost run headlong into Sandy. Her backs to us and she's watching her boys playing chase. Reaching behind herself she shoves a bottle of sunscreen into Richard's face without even looking at him, as if by second nature. I guess it's what happens when you become a mom-you start mothering everyone around you automatically. "Okay, kiddos. Go play with Camila, ok?" she smiles at her boys and they engulf her with a big hug. Smiling at her eldest, a tow-headed six year-old with bright blue eyes she says, "keep an eye on your little brother, ok?" pointing to the curly-headed 3 year-old behind her.

Richard starts to put the sunscreen bottle in his backpack when Sandy turns around and points a sharp finger at him. "You put that on _now_ , mister. Don't even try to be all macho and 'forget' to do it."

"Nice try, man," Soren laughs approaching us and putting an arm around his wife. "Don't mess with a mom."

"Speaking of moms," Sandy says thoughtfully. "Mine thinks we're crazy you know."

Richard smears a big glob of sunscreen on his face and starts trying to rub it in his face. I try to stifle a laugh watching him realize he's got way too much, is running out of skin to put it on, and has nothing to wipe the extra off on.

"For what?" Soren asks, hugging each of his sons as they run off to play with Eduardo's mother Camila.

"For moving down here for this and bringing the kids," Sandy says solemnly, pulling her brunette hair into a ponytail.

Richard apparently decides to just try to rub all the extra sunscreen on his skin, failing miserably and leaving a big blob on his nose and a thick layer everywhere else.

"Hey, how many kids can say they've been able to live in Egypt and in Central America _and_ help work on archeological sites?" Soren asks. Grinning over at me he adds. "You know, besides Arnold."

"Touché," I laugh back at him.

Soren high-five's me as Antoinette approaches. The second Richard spots her he starts nervously wiping his cheeks to make sure there's no more sunscreen, _still_ entirely missing the glob on his nose. "Hi, Antoinette," he greets, overly cheerily and again I'm stifling a laugh.

"Hi, Richard," she replies absently, but then does a double take, squinting her eyes as she walks closer. "You've...uh...got something on your nose." While Richard wipes at his nose in angry embarrassment behind her, she looks to me. "I'm going to work on cleaning those pottery shards we found and piece them together, if that's all right."

"Sounds great," I smile, nodding at her.

"Ol' Rich and I are going to go work on checking out those soil samples we took yesterday," Soren says, slinging an arm onto Richard's shoulders who glares at him good-humoredly.

"If you weren't my friend I'd beat you up for calling me Rich."

"In case you guys need us, Arnold and I are going to continue working on the hut remains," Sandy calls over their chuckling.

Sandy and I easily fall into a matched rhythm and conversation as we head across the campsite to where our latest excavation is. Our friendship has always been that way. She's picked up fairly easily on the green eyes hieroglyphics, just like I expected she would. Probably for the same reason I was able to hop from the Green Eyes language to Ancient Egyptian so fast-they are similar-similar enough to lead me to finding the connection between with their languages. It's a little embarrassing that the dictionary she's using while translating was written by me, but it's the only one available. She gets a kick out of it though.

The two of us trudge across the campsite, and get back to work on our excavation of a pile of artifacts found around what we suspect is the spot of one of the oldest dwellings. It was once made of wood and while nothing is left of the wood, there is soil evidence of the structure. And we've already found a few artifacts around it.

We're already sweating in the dense humidity and we've only just sat down. It's a good thing the large trees and vines shade us from the sun or this place would be worse than the deserts of Egypt. The lush green of everything is a really nice change of scenery, nonetheless. The areas around the banks of the Nile are green of course, but nothing like this. And the area in Deir el-Bahri, where we found the tombs, was anything but green...it's cliff sides and sand dunes...all the same color...unless you go about 2 miles towards the Nile and run into the city, placed in the greenery of the river. But even the green palm trees and papyrus reeds of the Nile River are nothing compared to these flourishing jungles of San Lorenzo.

It makes me wonder what Wadjmose and his family thought upon first arriving to this jungled area of humidity and lush emerald colors. So as we start to work I find myself caught up in imagining what it was like for this royal family-far from home and comfort...in a foreign land so different from their Egypt.

"Look at this," Sandy exclaims suddenly from beside me. "It looks like a charm of some sort. If I didn't know better..."

"You'd think it was Egyptian," I finished for her as she showed me the item. "It actually looks _really_ Egyptian," I state, staring down at it in surprise.

A simple jade trinket with something carved on it...something that looks strikingly like the Egyptian god Amun-Ra. The figure is dressed in a kilt and wearing two tall plumes on his head with a circular disk just like those seen on Amun-Ra figures found in Egyptian tombs.

Taking it from her, I rub the dirt dried in the cracks of the figure softly with my thumb.

"It looks like Amun-Ra," she echoes my thoughts softly, her voice fading as I hold the figure in my hand...a burning sensation there in my palm as I stare into the tree line around us...it's foreboding foliage almost overwhelming since the open skies of Egypt.

 _"Wadjmose, my love," Asenath whispers from beside me as she grabs my arm nervously, bracelets on her arms clinking against my own. "This land is so very different from our dear home." The fear fairly glows in my beloved's dark, kohl-lined eyes as she stares at what is now to be our new home._

 _A sea breeze gently sways across my legs, moving the linen kilt around my waist softly. The sand seeping around my gold sandals reminds me of the sands of the beautiful Nile Valley. Yet, she is correct, this place-this new world is nothing akin to Kemet. I gaze past the short length of sandy beach to the endless barricade of trees looming in front of us. Greenery of all kinds towers there in a tight line, almost like the defense tactics Nebmaatre and I used with our soldiers on the battle fields against the Nubians when they rebelled. Thick blankets of vines cover the ground, clinging and climbing up the tall, bushy, full trees; ferns and vegetation of all sorts litter the ground. All of it in bright, lush greens and even flowers of vibrant reds and yellows. It is very different from Kemet, but safe from Thutmose and his hateful schemes fueled only by greed and jealousy._

 _Strange, new sounds reach our ears. My eyes dart to the tree line in panic searching for their source, until I spot small odd-looking monkeys, very dissimilar from the ones I am familiar with-brought to Kemet from foreign lands. These strange, red and black creatures watch us with curious eyes as they swing in the treetops chattering and squeaking in their unique language._

 _"Look, Father, monkeys!" my eldest son, Akhom, shouts, pointing his wooden sword toward the jungle. "Dost thou suppose I can have one for a pet as I did back in Kemet?"_

 _"Thou must be patient, my little eagle. These creatures are wild and untrained. It will take time to teach them to be a friend unto thee," I explain to him._

 _"I shall capture one this very minute and we can begin training him at once," Akhom exclaims proudly, hands on the belted sash at his waist._

 _"Hush, Akhom," Asenath scolds softly, doing her best to hide her trepidation._

 _Silently I hand her my Amun-Ra amulet, hoping it will comfort her in her fears._

 _"But, Mother, General Nebmaatre had a pet monkey and he told me it was quite easy to train one," Akhom insists, stepping slowing closer to the tree line._

 _"Akhom, be still," Asenath scolds softly. "General Nebmaatre was prone to story-telling." Holding his shoulders gently, she forces him to meet her gaze as she speaks her next words firmly. "This is a peculiar new land, much different from Kemet. Thou must promise me to be very careful and watchful always and stay close to us and pray to the gods so thou may be protected. Praise Amun-Ra!" Grasping the Amun-Ra amulet around her neck in one had and grabbing my hand tightly in the other, she lets her breath out anxiously._

 _"Fear not, Beloved One," I whisper tenderly, sliding a hand beneath her soft chin and causing her dark eyes to meet my gaze. "Wadjet has promised me we shall be protected. No harm shall befall us." A small tear travels down her bronze skin, a river of sadness amongst such prominent beauty. "It shall be hard at first, I shan't lie to thee. We must build a home in this wild place, but we shall ultimately flourish here. Thou wilt see. The gods will bless us and protect us and our posterity."_

 _The laughter of our children playing in the sand dances on the breezes as I hold my heart's desire and beautiful wife close, against my heart, her body shaking with silent sobs._

 _"My love, trust in thy husband. I shall protect thee with all that I am. My Khat and Akh are thy forever guardians. My heart always thy champion," I promise her, holding her closer and kissing the top of her head. "Always."_

"Who's that woman talking to Eduardo?" Sandy asks, pulling me back to the present.

Blinking for a few seconds, I shake my head slightly to clear my mind of my present daydreams-daydreams, so clear and bright, about Wadjmose and his family. It was so…weird…like all my daydreams as of late.

Following Sandy's green eyes across the camp I spot a tall woman standing next to Eduardo and talking animatedly. She's dressed in a light, grey knit skirt, a light pink sleeveless blouse, and a large sunhat blocking my view of her face.

Shrugging I say, "Maybe it's his daughter or something. I think he said he has a daughter about that age." With one last glance, I set the small figurine in our bucket of artifacts. "Wicked awesome find, Sandy," I tell her, grinning at a brief memory of an elementary school friend named SId who used to say that.

"Oh, totally. Honestly, Arnold, the more we dig here the more I realize you're not crazy after all!" she grins teasingly at me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You might actually be on to something!"

"Thank you, Sandy. Thank you," I chuckle, bending back down over the ground once more. "You sure know how give a compliment."

"So, I hear you're the head honcho," a feminine voice interrupts from above me.

Looking in front of me I see tan, sandled-feet. Attached are two tan legs that seem to keep going up and up and up as my eyes travel up their toned, slender lines, smoothly contrasted against the jagged rock structures surrounding us.

"Eyes up here, buster," she says sardonically.

And I finally tip my head back enough to see her face. A beautiful face covered in an almost derisive scowl meets my own. A sense of familiarity picks at the corner of my mind as her eyes go as wide as saucers when she looks back down into my face.

Her voice seems to go a whole octave higher as she exclaims, "Arnold?"

* * *

A/N:

Whoo! That's a long one…but was actually easier to write than the last two. In fact, I wrote it and almost finished last week, but my beta was out of town…so you almost got new chapters two weeks in a row. Hopefully, I can keep up a faster pace for a bit…but you never know.

I started thinking that you guys might find a "glossary" type thing helpful or just fun, so I posted one at the bottom of the page.

Alright, so what do you think about everything now that he finally explained what he was doing in Egypt? Tell me tell me!

I love to hear your guys' theories too, so lay 'em on me!

And lastly…how'd you like that ending? Hmm? Hmm? ;-)

Thanks for your reviews! You guys were awesome last chapter! Keep it up and I know I'll stay inspired!

Love to you all!

Arnold's Love

* * *

Glossary:

 _Kemet_ is what the Ancient Egyptians called Egypt. It means "The Black Land". Egypt was a name created by the Greeks, and therefore, Wadjmose would not have used it. Sometimes I like to be legit like that.

 _Khat_ \- the physical body

 _Akh_ \- the immortal transformed self

 _[Note: there are actually nine parts to a soul in ancient Egyptian beliefs, but I chose to only to mention the above two so as not to add too much confusion.]_

 _Wadjet_ \- the name of a goddess, meaning "Green Lady"; also the original name of the "Eye of Horace". You can google that to see what it looks like. (There's also a pretty cool theology about Wadjet and how she became to be represented by the eye if you are curious.)

 _Amun-Ra -_ A god in the New Kingdom of ancient Egypt, which was the combination of the sun god Ra (a.k.a. Re) and the king of the gods Amun (a.k.a. Amen, Amon).

 _Mutnofret-_ name translates to "Mut is beautiful"

 _Wadjmose_ \- name translates to "Born of Green"; also can be implied as meaning "Born of the Green Lady"

 _Amenmose/Amunmose_ \- name translates to "Born of Amen/Amun"

 _Neferubity-_ name translates to "Beauty of the two ladies"

 _Asenath_ \- name translates to "Devoted to the goddess Nit"

 _Nebmaatre_ \- name translates to "The Lord of Truth is Re/Ra"

 _Akhom_ \- name means Eagle


	7. A Bright Pink Blast From the Past

"The Shadow Around His Heart"

By: Arnold's Love

* * *

Chapter Six:

Her large, blue eyes gape back at me. Instinctively she starts backing up, her palms facing out and moving side to side in denial. When I glance down at her retreating feet, I realize she's heading straight towards the bucket that's holding all of the artifacts we've found so far. Stepping forward, I reach my hand out towards her in panic.

"Watch where you're stepping!" I nearly yell, just as she steps right onto the bucket's edge, knocking it over and spilling out the contents-precious, delicate, ancient artifacts-all our hard work from the last few weeks.

She looks back over her shoulder to see what she's done, just as I take another step forward in anguish. Without warning, the woman spins around to face me once more, just as I feel my toe collide something. Sandy can only stare in stunned horror at what's transpiring, letting out an exclamation as my body pitches forward slamming right into the journalist, knocking her down in my fall. We land in an awkward pile of limbs, myself on top of her as our foreheads colliding together before the momentum of the fall finally ends.

For just a moment, we try to catch our breath and stare at each other in shock. Her bright sapphire eyes are still wide in her distress. Now hatless, her shiny blonde hair spills over her shoulders. Unexpectedly she shakes her head quickly before roughly pushing me off.

"Crimeny! What's the big idea?" she yells, jumping up and grabbing her hat off the ground. Angrily, she slams it down on her head before glaring at me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead and buried right now.

I pause from dusting myself off as that prickling of familiarity starts practically pounding me in the head. I feel my breath stop and my mouth drop open as I stare at her. "Helga? Helga Pataki?"

She rolls her eyes and smiles contemptuously. "Doi!" Heaving a sigh, she shakes her head again. "Still as dense as always, eh, Arnoldo?" Her eyes glisten with humor and the annoyance slowly fades from her face.

I can't find any words because the shock of seeing her for the first time in years is kind of taking over my brain. Helga G. Pataki...the last time I saw her was about five or six years ago, I think, when she was still young and barely more then a teenager…

"Wait. Do you guys _know_ each other?" Sandy asks finally, staring between the two of us like we're both certifiably insane.

Before I can answer her, Sandy's blonde-haired oldest son, Sawyer, runs up to her and begins pulling on her hand. "Mom! Mom! There are these _really_ weird looking monkeys over there." He turns his attention to me with one of the widest smiles I've ever seen. "You _have_ to come see!"

"Just a minute, sweetie," she says, smiling down at him and patting his cheek, but he's still looking at me expectantly. "Go over there with Camila and I'll be over in just a second." He looks slightly disappointed, but he's a great kid and doesn't argue. Instead he gives us another huge grin and a nod before running off towards the monkeys.

"Wait, are you two _married_?" Helga sputters, surprise written all over her face as she looks from where Sawyer ran off, to me, and then to Sandy.

Words escape me for the second time and I can only shake my head frantically as Sandy laughs. "No. That's my man over there..." - she begins glancing over to where Sawyer went- "dancing around like a monkey." Her face scrunches up as she squints over to where Soren is indeed hopping around like a monkey. "What _is_ he doing? Maybe I'd better…excuse me, please," she says before swiftly running off towards Soren and Sawyer.

Helga looks around the site casually, arms folded across her chest. "So...where's _your_ wife then?" she finally asks, her voice dripping with disdain.

"I'm not married, Helga. What are you doing here?"

She rolls her eyes. "My _job_."

"What job's that? Destroying my dig site?" I say this teasingly, but I'm seriously annoyed that her clumsiness almost destroyed weeks of work.

"No, Arnoldo. I'm here to interview a crackpot archeologist for _The National Geographic_. Apparently, that's you," she adds with one of her smirks that I'm all too familiar with. How could I forget how much Helga Pataki lives to tease and rile people up-especially me?

"Then why do you seem so surprised to find me here? Wait a second," I exclaim, "crackpot archeologist? Who says I'm a crackpot?"

"Um... _everyone_ ," she quips throwing her arms out for effect. "You claim that San Lorenzo's Green Eyes are descendents of the Ancient Egyptians. That's like oceans away from here," she laughs. " _And_ to answer your other question, I'm surprised to find you here because I wasn't actually given your name. Just initials and 'team.'"

"So how'd you find us here?"

She gives me a look that screams 'what, are you an idiot?' "How many eccentric archeologists do you think there are in San Lorenzo that think the Green Eyes are actually Egyptians? Geez, Copernicus, it's not like you're hiding or anything. I've been all over Central and South America and there's definitely no one like you. And as the top _National Geographic_ journalist in these parts, I am telling you I have been _all over_."

I raise an eyebrow at her in surprise. "I thought you were going to be a novelist or something. I didn't know you were into this kind of thing."

She smiles genuinely and it completely transforms her face. For a second I'm awed by it: Helga Pataki genuinely _smiling_. "Are you joking?" she laughs. "Traveling the world...adventure...going off the beaten paths and investigating for stories? This is so totally up my alley!" she cries, throwing her arms out wide. And then her expression turns smug. "What's not my thing are these little boring ' _interest'_ pieces about crazy archeologists with insane theories."

I should think by now they'd see that I currently have _plenty_ of evidence to back up my theory, and therefore, shouldn't be called crazy anymore. And, of course, I'll discover even _more_ proof here, which was the whole point of crossing the Atlantic. Maybe the magazine knows that, but Helga's just stirring the pot. This is Helga G. Pataki, the _queen_ of name calling and pot stirring. "We have plenty of evidence, Pataki. And I'll prove it to you."

"Only time will tell, I suppose," she replies, slight sarcasm in her voice.

I roll my eyes and kneel down to begin picking up the artifacts she spilled. She joins me in carefully gathering the pieces.

"Sorry about this," she says, regret in her voice. "I was just so surprised to find you here."

"It's okay. It was an accident." I look over at her and give her a friendly smile, only to see her gazing quietly down at the jade Amun-Ra. I can't help but watch her as an unfamiliar expression colors her face for a fleeting moment before she places the artifact in the bucket. Was it…fascination? Intrigue? Awe? It's at that very moment I realize I can't recall a time I've ever seen her look quite that way. A wave of excitement fills my chest at the thought.

From faraway scream of excitement jolts me out of my own head. _Crap_ , have I seriously been staring at Helga this whole time? Luckily, she doesn't seem to have noticed, her gaze still on the artifact scattered in front of her. Trying to ignore the pounding in my chest, or how hot my face feels - when did it get so _hot_ out here? - I look for the source of the sound.

The moment I find what I'm looking for, I can feel a smile stretch itself across my face. The sound must have come from Sawyer laughing at Soren's monkey dance. Sandy stands with them, one of her hands resting on Sawyer's shoulder and the other one covering her face as she shakes her head in embarrassment. I'm so glad they could bring their kids along with them on this adventure. It's been fun watching them parent and watching the joy and interest the kids show in our work and in the jungle itself.

It's when I hear the soft clink of another artifact being placed in the bucket, that I realize I've stayed quiet for way too long. Way to not be an awkward turtle, Arnold. "So how'd you end up as a journalist over this area? I would have guessed you would have chosen France or Spain or something."

When there's a long pause I glance back over at her and notice her cheeks are flushed and she's staring hard at the ground. The heat must be getting to her too.

"So...why here?" I repeat.

"Look, bucko, I can be a journalist anywhere I want. Besides the jungle reminds me of Washington. _And_ , I like monkeys," she jokes, but body language says otherwise as she slightly cringes at the word "monkey".

"Uh-huh," I say, thoughtfully, watching her closely, noting the similarities and differences in this adult Helga and her younger self. The sass and the witty sarcasm are all still there in their brazen glory. Yet, there's a serenity about her….almost as if she's finally at peace with herself and her life. Just a few minutes together and I can already see that the walls that were forever surrounding her back when we were kids-while not completely gone-are now only small shadows of what they once were. She's bantering instead of bickering with me. She's laughing and smiling instead of endlessly scowling. Her face so softened by those smiles that the beauty that was always there practically glows. Her posture's confident and sure, instead of hunched and angry.

Watching her, my curiosity's peaked and it makes me wonder what's changed since I last saw her to make her so different and yet more openly herself then I've ever seen. Adrenaline pumps through me for a moment at the thought of finally being able to break through those walls she builds and finally meet the real Helga. The Helga I've always suspected was deep down inside, calling to get out. Maybe now…maybe I'll finally see her-all of her. I start to feel that wave of excitement again-an almost fluttering in the bit of my stomach and I-

"Take a picture it will last longer," she retorts upon realizing I'm staring at her. _Crap!_ I really need to stop doing that.

"Arnold, we...we, uh...we need your help," Sandy calls, approaching us at a run. Glancing to Helga she adds, "If you can spare a moment."

"Your wife summons, Shortman," Helga quips with a guffaw.

Sandy puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Helga. "I'm not his wife, _whoever_ you are," she corrects her with a terse tone to her voice.

"Her name's Helga. What's up?" I ask Sandy, standing up and dusting off my pants.

Eyeing Helga suspiciously, she finally turns to me and answers. "Well...Soren's stuck up in the tree with a bunch of monkeys."

"This is I gotta see," Helga laughs, standing up and clapping her hands together.

Approaching the area where Sawyer had found the monkeys and Soren had been goofing off, we look up into the towering branches of the tree. There's Soren, high up, cornered by a group of monkeys that are either really curious about him or about to tear his face off.

"You know spider monkeys are some of the most intelligent monkeys of the New World," Richard states, looking at Antoinette as we approach. He smiles proudly at himself, waiting for her answer.

"Fascinating, but not all that helpful," she replies sarcastically.

Richard's shoulders slump slightly and he kicks a rock dejectedly in front of him. "Your mama's not helpful," he mumbles under his breath.

"Not the time, Richard," Antoinette reprimands sternly.

"Get me down from here!" Soren shouts suddenly as a monkey swings over to him, and then hangs from a branch so he's face to face with him.

"Quite the brilliant team of scientists you've got here, Arnold," Helga retorts, behind a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"I was never a huge fan of Tarzan...and now I'm married to him," Sandy groans from beside her.

"You could do worse," Helga says, nonchalantly. However, the way she eyes me makes my stomach sink with dread. It's like I _know_ she's up to something, like she's going to say something that I don't want to hear. "You could actually be married to a football-headed oddball of an archeologist."

… _And_ there it is.

* * *

Eventually, we were able to get Soren out of the trees and away from the monkeys (although he claimed one was watching him and following him around the rest of the day). After some brief introductions to my teammates and a short explanation of how we knew each other, I showed Helga to an extra tent we had for her. She thanked me and spent the rest of the afternoon in there. I'm guessing she took a nap after her trip down, but who knows.

She's definitely still Helga. I mean besides looking a whole lot more like a woman and less like a girl. The attitude, sarcasm, teasing and spunk are all still there-but I can also sense she's grown up a lot. There was always this childlike wonder and sense of something much deeper that I got from Helga…and while I still feel the depth there…that wonder is gone. Something's definitely different and while I can't put my finger on it, and could easily push it aside as life experience…I'm not so sure it's that. But who am I to talk, I'm sure I've changed too. I graduated high school and threw myself into my studies. Maybe a little too much if you ask Antoinette and Sandy. Passion for something does that, I guess. So maybe Helga did the same thing.

"Mmm, it smells delicious, Sandy," Antoinette comments, walking into the meal tent.

Sandy turns and smiles at her. "Thanks. Being in Central America put me in the mood for enchiladas."

Just then Soren and Helga walk in, laughing together.

"What's so funny?" Sandy asks, placing a heaping plate in front of Richard.

"We were just sharing our distaste for monkeys," Soren explains, grabbing a seat with a sigh. "I'm starved."

"It's a good thing Arnold thought to throw those guava fruits at them to distract them," Sandy comments, placing a plate in front of me as well. "I was afraid I was going to have to learn how to swing on vines and sleep in trees."

"I thought you liked monkeys, Helga," I say, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her, as she takes the empty seat next to me.

"I wasn't serious. Don't you know sarcasm when you hear it?" she asks, taking off her hat and tossing it aside. I can't help but stare at her long blonde hair spilling out and down onto her back.

"It's just been so long since I've had the _joy_ of experiencing Helga Pataki sarcasm," I quip back, with a smirk.

She lifts one eyebrow at me in amusement, before turning to thank Sandy for the food.

"Why don't you like monkeys?" Richard asks suspiciously, as if Helga's got some sinister reason for not liking the poor animals.

"I had a bad experience once when I was nine…" she replies, her hand awkwardly rubbing her arm. It's as if she's skirting around the details. When she was nine…Do _I_ remember this? Before I can think on the subject any more, she turns to look to Sandy, who's still setting dishes onto the table. "Where are your kids?"

"Oh, they're fast asleep in bed," Sandy replies as she sits down in front of her own plate. "We always put them to bed before we all eat dinner so we can kind of relax and enjoy some light conversation."

"Dude! Did you guys know that Arnold and Helga grew up together?" Soren asks excitedly as if he's the first one to announce the news.

Sandy can only sigh, and drop her face into her hands as the rest of us laugh.

"No, I'm serious you guys. They've known each other since they were babies," he adds, obviously thinking we don't believe him, when in actuality everyone already all knows and he somehow missed the big announcement.

Helga elbows me behind her laughter. "He was there for that? Is he serious?"

"Sadly, yes," I reply, chuckling again as Sandy buries her face in her arms.

"So, you're here with the _National Geographic_. That's gotta be exciting," Antoinette pipes in, when the laughter finally dies down.

"Yah, it's pretty fun. I get to visit new countries, see places and ruins that very few people get to see, and photograph some gorgeous things," she smiles back.

"So were you disappointed when we transferred here instead of staying in Egypt?"

Helga shakes her head and smiles again. "Actually, I only cover Central and South America. It wasn't going to be me who would have come to write the article about your original Egypt discovery. I was only given the story after you came here. Someone else is still taking pictures of your mummies and tombs I believe…but I'll write the actual article on both things now."

"Well, that's pretty exciting. I mean since you and Arnold know each other. Probably makes it a lot more fun," Antoinette comments.

"When do we get to hear _that_ story?" Sandy asks, resting her face in her hand in interest. "You know, about all your crazy history and stuff?" she adds with a teasing wink.

Helga shrugs casually. "It's not much of a story."

"Really, Helga?" I ask, raising my eyebrow in challenge. "She used to bully me in elementary school," I say with a little bit of triumph in my voice. "And I was her favorite victim. Isn't that right?"

"Hey, Football Head, whatever happened to forgive and forget?" she snaps.

"If a person wants to learn from a previous mistake they can't forget. If I forgot, I'd lose all the lessons I learned about dealing with bullies," I retaliate.

"Is he serious?" Antoinette asks. "About you being a bully? You sure don't seem like a bully now."

"Maybe," Helga replies, her face getting slightly paler.

"Give her time," I joke.

"Hey, Shortman, you haven't seen me in years. Plus, I didn't bully anybody in high school, and you know it."

"Come on, Helga, it's all in good fun," I tell her, hands up in surrender.

Sandy giggles. "You know what they say about little girls who pick on little boys, don't you?"

I watch as Helga's cheeks go red and I can't help but smile at her discomfort. What? A little Schadenfreude never hurt anyone, did it? I never had the chance to feel it often.

…Is _that_ why that fluttering feeling is back?

When she doesn't answer, Sandy continues, "It means they have a _crush_ on the little boy. That they _like him like him_."

Finally, Helga throws her arms up, clearly exasperated. "Okay, so _maybe_ I liked the little football head back in the day." Shaking her head she adds, with a smirk marring her lips, "I always did like weird things."

"Aw, thanks, Helga. You always did know the way to a man's heart," I joke, shaking my head.

"Now, why all the focus on me? You've got your own little dark past," Helga comments, widening her eyes mockingly. I can literally feel everyone at the table lean forward to listen. "What about the time you totally skipped out on the play I wrote and dedicated weeks of my life to, huh?"

"I was nine. You made me dress like a banana and sing the phrase, 'it's fruits that really make us toots.'"

Richard laughs boisterously, slamming the table with his palm. "Oh, that's good!"

"Or what about the time you broke Eugene's bike?" Helga continues.

"Arnold, you broke someone's bike?" Sandy asks, a look of sadness and utter disappointment on her face, like I just broke one of the commandments. "That seems so unlike you."

"I didn't break Eugene's bike. A street cleaner drove over it."

Helga raises a sharp eyebrow as she leans in closer. "Wasn't it your fault though?"

Itching my nose where her breath tickled it, I scrunch my lips into a tight line, matching her stare. "I knocked over a different bike that knocked his bike into the street. I don't think that's the same thing, Helga."

"Whatever. Point is, it was your fault and you aren't any saint." She taps her fingers on the table, in thought. "Okay, so if it's ok for you all to make fun of my _tiny_ "-she shoots me a scowl that would freeze hell over-" _crush_ on Arnold, then I think it's only fair that I tell you about the brace-faced Ruth McDougal and how Arnold _loved_ her?"

I grimace slightly, feeling the heat rush to my face again. What is wrong with the generator in here? "How'd you know about that?"

I _swear_ her cheeks are red too, but, with the air conditioning acting all crazy, I honestly I'm not surprised. She quickly replies, " _Everyone_ knew about it, Romeo. You were always talking about her and would get goo-goo eyes if she even walked by."

"I did not get 'goo-goo' eyes," I exclaim.

"Yah, you _totally_ did. You looked like this"-she makes her eyes all big and puppy-dogged dreamy-"and then you'd say, 'Ruth P. McDougal,'" she adds in a melodramatic, high voice. "And what about Lila…man, you chased that poor girl for half a school year, even though she didn't _like you, like you_ and was in love with your dull as dirt cousin."

"Dang, this is getting good!" Richard exclaims leaning forward and taking a bit of his dinner. "Keep going. Keep going."

"Psst, Sandy, can I have some more?" Soren whispers from his seat next to her, apparently not paying much attention to anything besides his food.

"In a minute, I don't want to miss this," she hisses back.

Soren pouts at her before standing up and going to dig in the pan for more enchiladas.

"By the way, do you still space out all the time?" Helga asks. My chest feels significantly lighter; I can't help but silently thank her for changing the subject.

"Oh, so that's not a new thing?" Antoinette asks, with a little laugh in her voice.

"Haha, no way. That kid's been a daydreamer since we were in preschool," she says, directing her thumb at me. "Come to think of it...it almost seemed like the older he got the worst it became."

I just shrug and go back to eating my dinner. Helga starts laughing.

"Hoo, boy! Those were the days! Remember the time in the cemetery when I scared you boys silly by dressing up as the Ghost Bride? You guys were shaking like a leaf!"

"I seem to remember that that night ended with you being equally terrified when Curly had the same idea and scared us all in his get up," I reply smirking.

"Touché," she smiles, before changing the topic. "So do you guys agree with Arnold? Do you really think that the Green Eyed people are related to the Egyptians? I mean I'm not expert on the Green Eyes, and I've done some research, but since they disappeared there's even less information out there than before."

Sandy nods vigorously, "We do! There's actually some great evidence! I'm sure we'll have time to show you..."

Even though I'm listening, their voices kind of fade into the background gradually, like the slow dissipation of falling rain until all I hear is the soft babbling and burbling of water. And instead of seeing my friends surrounding me around the dinner table, I'm gazing straight down a river to the fiery horizon beyond. Unwavering and lost in the gentle lapping of the water, I watch as the orange sun continues its rapid descent into the slow moving river, threads of light shooting across the sky. Shades of crimson and amethyst paint the sky, their bright colors contrasting with the dark greens of the canopy of the surrounding jungle vines. I grip the railing in front of me, leaning forward to smell the air, breathe in the sent of the river. All is quiet, except for the sweet flow of the water, as if all the jungle inhabitants are paused and watching as the sun drowns in the river's horizon and the skies purples and reds fade to lapis lazuli, then melting away to obsidian.

Stars slowly sequin the sky, winking at me, teasing, until the bright and glorious moon casts brilliant rays of light which reflect on the smooth river water in front of me. For a moment, all I feel is peaceful. Putting a hand to my chest, I close my eyes and feel for my heartbeat...a heartbeat that never seems to come.

* * *

"Hey, Arnold..."

"Huh? What?" Snapping myself out of it, I look around the table as all eyes are on me, staring at me in shock, except for one pair. Helga is staring at me with amusement.

"Daydreaming again?" Sandy asks with a maternal smile.

"Well, there's the proof. Even after all these years you really are still that same little fluffheaded football head," Helga laughs, her eyes soft and bright.

I just roll my eyes. Brushing off their comments, I quickly try to save face. "I was thinking...Eduardo and I were going to hike out to this old Green Eyes' temple he's been wanting to show me tomorrow. We want to start identifying more sites to add to our future excavation sites. But it occurred to me that we could all probably use a break, so why don't we make it a fun little trip of it," I smile at them all. "Take a picnic lunch or something. Or maybe even camp up there for the night. It'd be really amazing to see the sunset from such a high point in the jungle." Turning to Helga I add, "Plus, it'd be a good place to take some pictures of San Lorenzo and I'm sure an ancient temple can only add to your article."

Punching my in the shoulder lightly, she smiles broadly. "I like the way you think, Shortman." She pushes her plate away and stretches back in her chair. "Well, Sandy, that was delicious. Thanks!"

"Hey, did you guys know Arnold daydreams?" Soren asks suddenly from his spot across the table, his plate now empty.

There's a long pause while everyone stares at him before they start laughing.

Sandy shakes her head before face palming sadly again. "Oh, Soren," I hear her mumble from the depths of her hand. "Oh, Soren."

* * *

A/N:

Well, this chapter was a little more difficult to write then I originally anticipated…so sorry about that. But…Helga! Yay!

Tell me everything! I want to know how you liked it and what you thought of Arnold and Helga and just everything. What made you laugh? That's one thing I love to know! Tell me more, tell me more!

Thanks guys! You're seriously the best! Here's to chapter 7!

Hugs,

Arnold's Love


	8. Journey to the Temple

Chapter Seven:

"And last year I covered The Carnival in Rio de Janeiro," Helga says, strutting along the trail. Her posture is confident and sure, her chin is up, and a brilliant smile lights up on her face.

"Wow, that must have been amazing!" Antoinette exclaims, eyes wide.

"What's The Rio Carnival?" Richard inquires, taking full advantage of the tree in his way by sliding closer to Antoinette as discreetly as possible. For the record, she doesn't notice. That, or she doesn't care.

"It's a festival held in Brazil each year before Lent," Helga explains, her face bright with excitement and her blue eyes sparkling.

It's a struggle not to just stop in my tracks and stare at her. The Helga I remember was not this chatty. Well, at least not this friendly while talking. She could chatter a long list of insults or threats, but never just talk about world events like this. I've definitely never seen her this bright and exuberant about something without getting defensive and rude if you noticed her interests. It's almost as if she's found a passion, something to live for, goals to strive for, and with that she's become more confident in herself and content with the world around her.

I find myself in complete stunned silence. And I have to admit, I'm intrigued by this sudden zeal I see in her, especially considering it's something that I can relate to: traveling, history, and the world. There's a strange lump forming in my throat and I have to kind of clear it before I speak to make sure my voice sounds normal. "It's like Mardi Gras in New Orleans," I comment.

Was that high voice _mine_? Geez, what's wrong with me?  
"Yes, very similar," Helga confirms with a nod, obviously not noticing my sudden loss of voice. Thank goodness. "Rio Carnival is considered to be the biggest carnival in the world. Every day there are about 2 million people on the streets." The more she talks the more animated she gets, her hands and arms moving with excited fervor. "If I'm ever actually not writing an article that time of year, I'm totally going back-even if I have to sleep in an alley." She stumbles on a rock on the trail, grabbing my shoulder to steady herself. Her eyes meet mine for a brief moment before she yanks her hand away, continuing her story without missing a beat. Without warning, a slow warmth spreads throughout my body, leaving me feeling light-headed and causing sweat droplets to form on my brow. It must be _really_ hot today. Amazon heat wave, maybe? Is that a thing? Can it actually get hotter than normal here?

"Last year while I was there, I watched the parades of the _Escolas de Samba_ -which are like nothing you've ever seen! Each _escola_ has about 300 drummers and percussionists, gigantic floats, and at least a few thousand costumed dancers. I mean, it's one of the most colorful, remarkable things I've ever seen in my entire life. Even more remarkable than that time your grandma stole that bulldozer from Nick Vermicelli by swinging from a rope dressed as Tarzan." She elbows me lightly in the ribs and I shoot her a withering look.

"Wait, what?" Sandy asks, simultaneously grabbing the back of her three-year-old Ramses' shirt and pulling him away from a huge bumblebee.

"Oh, it's a _long_ story." Helga laughs lightly before continuing. "One night, while in Brazil, I got to celebrate with a small neighborhood _banda_. They called themselves _Simpatia é Quase Amor_ which means Sympathy Is Almost Love. It's pretty much their goal to have a kind of whimsical, if not ironic, name. And they go down the streets as musicians, with a sound truck, playing marches and sambas. Oh, and then crowds of people trail behind or cheer them on from the street sides. It's literally something _everyone_ should see." Her lips stretch into the biggest smile I think I've ever witnessed on the face of Helga. I can't help but stare. The wind blowing through her blond hair, her fluid gait, her catlike grace...

Watching her, I can sort of tell she's in her own little world...almost like she's forgotten we're here. Her mind racing with memories and love for the adventures she's had. "The first festivals held in Rio de Janeiro even date back to the 1700s, which I think is pretty amazing. I mean that's 300 years of carnivals! I've kind of got this thing for history," she adds, her cheeks showing a hint of red. "It's one of the reasons I originally applied to cover this area. I think the ancient people and history here are so intriguing. Plus, I kind of like going off the beaten path and exploring things very few others have seen. I feel like there are endless new things to discover here."

"What exactly do you do when going 'off the beaten path'?" Soren asks, swinging their littlest up onto his broad shoulders, likely just to keep him out of trouble. There's no end of energy when it comes to their two boys.

Helga sighs as she looks up into the bright sky, her eyes half-lidded and her grin twisting into a dopey smile. I feel a slight stirring in my chest. Maybe I'm about to have a heart attack. Can twenty-six year-olds _have_ heart attacks?

"Oh, you know," Helga smiles, still gazing at the view above through the jungle canopy, "sleeping out under the stars for a week because you're so far away from society."

"No, thank you! I wouldn't want to do that! At least here we can drive a couple of hours to civilization and shower and sleep in a bed if we want to," Antoinette remarks, looking exhausted by just the thought of sleeping outside.

"Do you do this kind of thing by yourself?" Sandy questions, her voice nervous and possibly a bit suspicious.

"Sure. Why not?" Helga shrugs nonchalantly. "I can take care of myself. Plus, it's just so therapeutic just to be away from people and have the chance to sit and think and enjoy the beauty of the world."

I have to almost physically close my mouth while I'm listening to her. It's like she's reading my own thoughts and feelings, which is pretty amazing in itself. This is Helga G. Pataki. Someone who I have a bit of an interesting, if somewhat rough history with; someone who bullied me and berated me and once informed me that she was only just a "mean and nasty" person. But the way she talks about history, going off the beaten path, and finding alone time therapeutic...it's like we're sharing a mind. And I can't help but be...overwhelmingly intrigued.

I mean, it's not like I haven't _known_ other people who love history. Obviously, Antoinette and Sandy both love history or they wouldn't be in this field, but even for them they have other passions that kind of transcend their love of history. And they're not likely to go spend a week on their own in the middle of nowhere just for the heck of it. And even if they did they wouldn't _enjoy_ it that much. And even now, they still get tired of living in a tent or a cabin far away from any cities.

So, I've never known anyone who seemed to have the same kind of thrill that I have when it comes to this kind of thing. There's a strange kind of heat in my chest listening to her, and I'm pretty sure I'm smiling like a big dope. All of a sudden, my mind is overflowing with things I'd love to discuss with her and her like-mindedness.

"And I gotta say, I was pretty thrilled to get this assignment," Helga states, and I realize she's beside me again, her arm bumping mine from the rhythm of our hiking.

"You were?" I ask, looking up to her in surprise and rubbing the goose bumps that have suddenly formed on my arms. Can you get goose bumps from it being hot outside?

She chuckles, obviously amused. "Of course. You know, I've heard whisperings and rumors about these _elusive_ Green Eyed people for years. Granted no one ever said they were _Egyptian_ though. Just you." She shoots me a teasing look. "All I know is that they were a very small, secretive civilization, way out here. One day, about twenty-five years ago, they just...disappeared," her voice fades. "Once I even tried to come out here myself, but they've got the place pretty well protected."

"An entire civilization vanished without a trace. Not to mention a pair of anthropologists," Eduardo starts, shooting me a solemn look. "We didn't think it was wise to allow people in. _El niño ahogado, tapando el pozo_ ," he adds solemnly, removing his hat briefly and resting it over his heart.

Helga nods slowly, clearly understanding, but then asks, "but why open it now? After all these years?"

"Señor Arnold convinced me," is all he says before turning and continuing on ahead of us.

"Quite the conversationalist, isn't he?" Helga quips to me.

I silently let out the air I've been holding in. It's not that I don't _want_ Helga to know about the fact that it was _my_ parents who were the anthropologists that disappeared, it's just that I'm not really ready for her to know _all_ the details. Though, my guess is, if she were to think about it, she would know enough to put the pieces together. Helga's anything but dumb.

"That's not true. He just takes a while to warm up. He's actually a pretty friendly guy once you get to know him."

"So let me ask you this, Mr. Shortman," she begins, readjusting the strap of her bag and changing the subject. "Was your whole plan to end up over here in San Lorenzo or did it all happen by coincidence?"

"Well, honestly, I kind of hoped it would happen," I reply frankly, watching our feet matching in step as we head up a steep slope. "I started out studying the Green Eyes, but when I found out that the sites were closed indefinitely I switched to Egyptology and became intrigued by the similarities in their linguistics and cultures. And it kind of snowballed from there."

She looks at me intensely for a moment again and I meet her gaze, my heart skipping a beat at the deep blue of her eyes. "Did you want to come to San Lorenzo to...to..." she trails off, a guilty look in her eyes, as she casts them downward.

"To find my parents?" I finish for her, trying to hide the emotional waver in my voice. "Well, I kind of gave up on finding them alive a long time ago. But it would be something, at least, to find out what happened to them. Maybe a little bit of closure. But, at the very least, it's incredible to be finishing their work."

When she doesn't respond, I look up to see her studying me again. Her large eyes look almost sorrowful as they gaze at me. "I'm sorry about your parents, Arnold. I really and truly am."

I can only nod in response, before quickly glancing away. The thought of my parents, and losing them causes a dizzying pain in my heart. And there's a burning lump forming in my throat and tears forming in my eyes and I know if I speak they'll start falling and I will _not_ cry in front of Helga.

Since I can't speak, I turn away and observe the trees we pass by as we walk up the hill. We're on an old overgrown path, probably once used by the Green Eyes to visit the temple, but it definitely hasn't been used recently. Vines, bushes and growth of all sorts have taken over, but it's still mostly clear of large vegetation. However, tight against the edges of the trail are the giant trees towering above us, allowing very little sun to actually get through. Since our eyes are more accustomed to the brightness of the trail, it feels significantly darker when I gaze into the surrounding jungle. Shadows ebb and flow around in between the dense trees. It's almost like there's something there beyond the foliage, darting in and out of sight...

With a sharp intake of breath, I almost stop.

Wait. What was that?

A sudden surge of dread overcomes me for a second, snaking its way up my back. This time I really do stop walking to stare into the shrubbery. My heartbeat immediately increases and drops of cold sweat make their way down my face.

I close my eyes for a second to moisten them and whipping my head around to look to the tree line behind me, searching the jungle, but seeing nothing but trees and vines.

I could have sworn I really did see something-a shadow, darker than the rest-following us. But, there's nothing there...no foreboding shadow, no figure hovering there behind us, nothing but the normal expanse of forest.

Shaking my head, I let out the tense breath I've been holding. Glancing back to Helga, I notice she has also stopped walking and is eyeing me closely. "What's wrong, Arnold?" she questions, glancing behind me.

"I thought I saw something following us," I tell her, my voice losign a hint of it's normal bravado.

"Probably just an animal," Helga states. But her brows are slightly furrowed as she looks past me into the tree line.

"Maybe it was a panther," Antoinette comments, approaching us from behind. "I still haven't seen one yet."

"Why would you _want_ to see one?" Sandy asks with a fearful shiver, tugging protectively on Sawyer's hand to bring him closer to her.

"I bet it was Edward," Soren comments, coming to stand next to her.

"Who's Edward?"

"Or maybe...it's Jacob," he adds with intrigue, trying his best to stay straight-faced.

"Did you seriously just make a _Twilight_ joke? I don't know if I should be impressed or embarrassed," Sandy remarks, giving him a withering look.

"Did you know that panthers aren't actually their own species?" Richard interjects, moving close to Antoinette again. It's getting harder to believe how she seems so oblivious to his obvious advances. "They're actually either jaguars or leopards, born with a simple recessive gene that causes the all-black or dark brown color. They can even have siblings with normal spots."

Antoinette stops and stares at him for a minute. "How _do_ you hold all that information in your brain?" With that she turns and continues walking up the hill.

Helga and I share a look with a snicker as Richard hurries past us to catch up with her.

"He's got a thing for her, doesn't he? He should try a new tactic," she quips. "Not that I'm an expert or anything. In fact, I'm about as far from being an expert as you can get." With that she kicks a stone in front of her and starts walking again.

Matching her speed I laugh. "Well, I don't know. I might have you beat in that area."

"Oh, I _highly_ doubt that," she replies, an unidentifiable tone in her voice.

I glance up at her and witness an array of emotions flickering across her face, but they pass too quickly and Sawyer is suddenly in front of me before I can decipher them.

"Arnold, will you give me a piggy-back ride? Please?"

"You don't have to, Arnold," Sandy says, smiling softly. "If you're too tired, just tell him so."

I grin and squat down in front of the little exuberant six-year-old. "Sure, Sawyer, hop on up."

I've barely found my balance before he's already climbing up onto my back. Once he's secure, I stand up and begin heading up the hill.

"Hey, what's that over there? Can we go look?" he asks, pointing over my shoulder to a large, bright pink flower on a plant near the edge of the trail.

"Sure," I reply. Bouncing along extra dramatically, I race over to the flower. I glance behind us at Helga's retreating figure as she follows the rest of the group on ahead.

"What do you think?" I ask Sawyer, leaning over so he can get a good look at the flower.

"I think she's pretty," he replies softly.

"How do you know the flower is a girl?" I question, trying not to laugh.

He erupts into a fit of cute little giggles. "Not the flower. Flowers aren't girls, you weirdo," he replies, still giggling. "I mean the yellow-haired lady. _She's_ pretty."

I glance back to where Helga and the group have paused on the crest of the hill, overlooking the view, and realize he saw me looking back at her when I asked the question. Great…he probably thought I was asking about Helga and not the flower.

"And I know a secret," Sawyer says, twisting around my shoulder until his face is looking into mine, his blue-gray eyes sparkling mischievously.

"What's that?" I chuckle, amused at his proud expression, and twist back to look at him as best as I can.

"You think she's pretty too," he exclaims before pulling himself back around onto my back.

My eyes are once again on Helga. There really is no denying that she is pretty; maturity has been kind to her. Her lithe arms lift over her head as she stretches. Sandy is next to her and obviously says something funny because now Helga is laughing. We're too far away to hear what they are saying, but the pleasant sound of her laughter flows down to us like a soft breeze. I must have zoned out for a moment because suddenly Helga is holding a piece of cloth – where she got it from I have no idea – and is wiping the back of her neck. Beads of sweat drip down the back of my own as I watch the extremely simple act of trying to cool off. Time seems to slow down and I can't tear my eyes away from the smooth skin at the nape of her neck as she pulls her sun-bleached hair back into a bun, short pieces falling around her face softly. Even from this distance I can see that she's tan and unblemished and looks strangely alluring.

Suddenly, my cheeks feel way too hot and there's an unfamiliar fluttering in my stomach. I wonder if I'm coming down with some Amazon flu, because surely it has to just be that. There was no way it was related to Helga.

Sawyer moves his head next to mine again, startling me out of whatever the heck _that_ was. "So...are we going to go or what?"

"Uh, yah," I reply, still distracted, as I head to the top of the hill, trying _not_ to think about the blonde-haired beauty in front of me. Oh geez, I did _not_ just think that.

The group has already started heading down the slope. Eduardo's leading, followed by Antoinette, Richard, and Soren who is still carrying Ramses on his shoulders, with Sandy and Helga trailing behind them at the rear. It's only a little more distance to catch up, but I take my time, not wanting to exhaust myself too much from carrying a six-year-old on my back while running up hill.

When we almost reach Helga and Sandy, I pause when I hear my name being spoken between them in lowered voices. After a quick internal debate, I decide to hang back behind them, only just far enough to remain in hearing distance of their conversation. A little eavesdropping never hurt anyone, right?

"So you already knew about Arnold's parents?" Sandy asks Helga, a slight defensive tone in her voice.

"Of course. _Everyone_ in Hillwood knows," Helga jests in response. When she notices Sandy doesn't reply, she turns to her. "Wait. _You_ didn't know?"

Sandy shakes her head, and even from the slight distance between us, I can see the slight hint of betrayal on the profile her face. A pang of guilt seizes my chest. "No. He didn't tell us until after we discovered the letter Prince Wadjmose wrote. We had no idea."

Helga nods solemnly. "We all grew up knowing Arnold's parents were gone. My dad called him 'orphan boy'. That blowhard was and still is a big jerk. I know that really bothered Arnold, but maybe he took it to heart and that's why he decided not to tell anyone."

Sandy nods, her shoulders still sagging dejectedly. The pang only grows in intensity. Maybe I should apologize to the group. They _are_ my friends. Maybe I should have told them sooner...

"In fourth grade when he found his dad's journal and learned all about his parents, you couldn't get the kid to shut up about it," Helga explains, quietly. "He told us all about how they were anthropologists and traveled to San Lorenzo to help these Green Eyed people...how he was born here during a volcanic eruption...and how one day his parents went back and just never came returned," she stated, a hint of grief in her voice.

"He had all these plans and crazy dreams that he was going to go to San Lorenzo, find them, and rescue them from whatever trouble had kept them from returning home." I'm almost touched at the sincere sound of sorrow in her voice. I never thought Helga even cared. She was usually too busy throwing spitballs at me for me to think otherwise. "Or he thought that they would come back on their own one day. I mean it was all he talked about for a long time.

"Then one day, when we were older, he just...stopped." She pauses, thoughtfully. "He never mentioned them or San Lorenzo again. I don't know what happened or what changed. But, one day that little glimmer of hope he always had in his eyes, was just...gone." Kicking a rock dispiritedly with each step of her right foot, she continues. "That hopeful spark was replaced by a dull, empty look. I think he just finally gave up hope that'd he'd ever see them again. The more time that went by since they left...well, I think he decided they were probably...gone forever."

I can't take it anymore. It's bad enough knowing people are talking about me, but being able to hear them makes it just so much worse. Not to mention the fact that they are talking about something so painful for me. Setting Sawyer down, I send him running to his mom. He plows into the back of her legs, almost sending Sandy sprawling to the ground. Helga turns to watch me walking towards them. Her cheeks redden slightly and she quickly looks down to brush a patch of dirt off her pants.

"Everything okay?" I ask, coating my voice in innocence. Time to try out those acting skills again. Hopefully, they'll work better then last time.

Helga shrugs nonchalantly, "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" Her cheeks are still pink and she hasn't met my eyes. When she finally does, she says, "Tell me about this letter from a Prince Whatcha-ma-somebody Sandy was just telling me about."

"It's Wadjmose," Soren states, proudly, as the others approach us to see what the delay is. "He was supposed to be Pharaoh...but the little weirdo totally left Egypt."

Sandy smacks him on the shoulder. "Don't speak ill of the dead, dear."

"Why'd he leave?" Helga asks pulling out a pen and notepad. "I mean, so far, he does sound like a little weirdo. What kind of name is What's-a-moose anyway?"

"Wadjmose. And he didn't leave by choice," Sandy replies with an eye roll. "His murderous siblings forced his leave."

Watching Helga talking with the others so casually and friendly gives me kind of a weird feeling. I mean it's Helga...but it's not Helga. It's strange. It's funny that only six years would change a person so much. But then again, six years is a long time. Plus, being away from Hillwood and, most importantly, her family was probably pretty liberating. She could be herself and finally be appreciated for her talents , since her family never really did appreciate her. For as long as she can remember, she's always been exceptionally smart and talented. Winning contests for her poetry, finishing high up in school spelling bees, receiving the highest scores on tests of all sorts. But her parents never noticed, and because of it, Helga never thought she was anything special, or that she had any talents or intelligence. But now I can see that she knows she's smart. She isn't just saying she is to brag or look tough; she really believes it.

And she looks different. Something about her-everything about her seems softer, at peace with the world and herself. Her voice has lost its defensive, angry timbre. Her tight, stiff pigtails are gone and replaced with long, wavy, silky hair. Her eyes are more often than not bright and happy instead of narrowed and scowling. Even the way she carries herself is more lithe and agile instead of stomping and hunched.

It kind of makes me wonder if I've changed at all since she's last seen me. Am I any different? Better? Or maybe worse?

* * *

Before too long-well, more like after a long day of hiking we reached the temple ruins. The sun was low in the sky, sunset only about an hour away. We set up camp and made a fire quickly while Sandy started the dinner. When we finally finished all the work, we sat down to eat and enjoy the sunset. Afterward, Soren put the little kids to bed and Sandy whipped out all the ingredients for s'mores.

Busy with setting up camp, there hadn't been much time to chat or talk with Helga. And then we were all so ravenous at dinner, that we quietly watched the bright colors sink into the horizon while the boys wrestled and chattered about their adventures on the hike. Now it was dark around us, the sounds of the nocturnal animals surrounding us with the quiet rustle of the wind blowing through the leaves.

"So, do you guys go all the way to town just for chocolate so you can make s'mores?" Helga asks with a slight chuckle, sticking a marshmallow on a stick and leaning forward to put it into the fire.

" _Nobody knows_ ," Richard says in a mock-spooky voice.

" _I_ know," Soren says matter-of-factly, shaking the stick with a burning marshmallow on it. "It's-"

"Watch where you're swinging that thing," Antoinette interrupts when Soren's flaming marshmallow almost hits her in the face.

"I am," Soren replies, waving her off. "Like I was saying, I know how there's always chocolate." He narrowed his eyes as if it's some great conspiracy. "One word: _Sandy_."

Glancing over at Helga, I can see her laughing as she watches Soren tease his wife, her eyes glowing with reflected firelight, her face happy and content.

"Chocolate makes for a balanced diet," Sandy comments placing a large piece onto her marshmallow and smashing it with two graham crackers. "Never underestimate the power of chocolate, my friends."

"I second that," Helga grins at me from across the fire. "All that crap about diamonds being a girl's best friend. That's baloney. _Chocolate_ is a girl's best friend." With that, she takes a big bite of her s'more, the melted chocolate oozing out the sides. Carefully, she wipes the drip off the side of her mouth with her ring finger and I can't seem to look away.

Antoinette, who is sitting next to me, sighs and startles me, drawing my attention back to the group. "Mmm, so true."

"Girls," Richard laughs.

"You said it," I reply, my cheeks heating up once more, as I realize I'm watching Helga again. Why do I keep _doing_ that?

"So, Eduardo," Helga says after finishing her s'more, "got any exciting stories to tell us from your anthropologist days?"

He pauses to look up at Helga, his eyes soft and slightly sad. Pensively he runs a finger across his mustache. "Well, let me think..."

"Ooh, I know! Tell us a story about baby Arnold in the jungle," Sandy interjects, licking the chocolate off her index finger. "Cute wittle baby Arnold, who would grow up to be a great archeologist."

Eduardo chuckles softly. "Aw, little chico Arnold. He was a _lindo_ little baby. Lucky for his parents, he slept through the nights at such a small age. Probably because he had so much energy. He never stopped. Just always going and going. _Muy activo_. He learned to crawl at only six months. It was _loco_! I had never seen that before, and to this day I've yet to see a baby crawling at such a small age."

He leans back against the large rock behind him and stretches his feet out in front of him, comfortable in his story-telling. "I remember one of Arnold's last days here in San Lorenzo." He shoots an unsure glance at me before continuing, but I don't give him any indication to stop. "At the time they were living in a _pequeña_ hut near the river. It was near an _antiguo_ temple where Miles, Arnold's father, was working. He was translating some of the Green Eyes hieroglyphics there. _Un poco torpe pero dedicado_ , your father."

He smiles softly at me, a hint of melancholy working at the corners of his mouth. Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I lean forward, unable to resist the need to hear more about my parents.

"Miles was very set on finishing those inscriptions. He felt they were very important, and as the only one who knew the language completely it was his duty." Eduardo smiles warmly at me. "I'm sure he never imagined his son would follow in his footsteps. If he had, I know he would be very proud- _muy orgulloso_."

I can feel eyes on me. You know the feeling. You can't ignore it. It's like someone poking you ever so lightly with little pins. Glancing around the fire, I spot Helga, watching me closely, her eyes half-lidded and unreadable. Our eyes meet for a second, before she looks back to Eduardo as he continues. I feel a flush come to my face, a flutter to my chest, and a tense anxiety all at the same time. Maybe I should consider going to the doctor when we return to civilization, because I can't remember the last time I felt like this.

"He was a very active little _chamaco_. As I said, only six months old and already crawling!" Eduardo continues. "Miles and Stella were so very proud of him. All the local villagers loved him and his bright blond hair, so different from anything they'd ever seen on a baby. Just a few weeks before this day, he had had an encounter with _un grande_ snake. And it had scared your poor parents so badly they decided they needed to move back to Washington.

"That's why Miles was trying to finish up his research. He wanted to bring Arnold and Stella back home to be safer." He looked back to the fire then, as if remembering a long lost memory. "The three of us were sitting just outside their hut. We were eating lunch and listening to Miles talk about the latest Green-Eyed writings he had deciphered. Arnold was just inside the cabin playing with a little toy I had carved for him out of _caoba_ wood. He seemed so happy playing there on the hut's wooden floor. Stella wanted to move him over by us, but Miles thought it was best not to disturb him since he was so content, so we let him play there while we talked. They would look back every couple of minutes and wave to Arnold, checking to make sure he was _bien_ and still having fun."

A cloud of a new emotion rested on Eduardo's face then. "But, at one point, Stella looks back and he's gone! _¡Desaparecido_! _Ay Dios mio!_ Our hearts froze in our chests! To say your father panicked is an understatement. He ran inside and threw everything apart looking for you, Arnold," he says, his voice raised with restraint emotions. "The beds, papers, suitcases...anything and everything.

"Stella and I checked around the hut, but Arnold was nowhere to be found! When we all came up empty, I remember your parents held each other, trying to decide what to do next. You had wandered off a few times before, but we usually found you very close by. They started to worry that you would be lost in the jungle forever... _por siempre_ ," Eduardo states, looking at me again. "I remember your mother standing there, staring into the jungle, her hand over her heart, tears on her cheeks. She kept saying, 'I had a bad feeling; I shouldn't have ignored it. I should have paid attention and just moved him next to me where I could see him the entire time."

Eduardo leaned forward then, the firelight dancing in his eyes, his face brooding with dark memories. "Dusk was coming and we knew we had to find Arnold _rápido_ before the sunset. We could not understand how he was able to crawl so fast. Going on Stella's motherly instinct-because she would not ignore it this time-we went to check the site your father had been working on. It was an ancient Green Eye temple and alter, abandoned in ancient times by their people. Miles and Stella even suspected it was also a burial site. As we arrived at the site, the sun was setting. The temple was a dark shape there on the hill. An ominous and foreboding sight, at a time of such fear where Arnold was concerned.

"But there Arnold was. Sitting at the entrance, his back to us, giggling at something in the darkness of the temple, _muy feliz_ , dressed only in his shirt and diaper. We did not see anything there in front of him. But he laughed and laughed. To this day, we do not know what baby Arnold was laughing at or why he crawled up there."

He looked at me then, the emotion in his eyes, his words directed specifically to me. "Your mother rushed over to you, Arnold, picked you up and hugged you _muy_ tightly. She was so happy to have found you! And I remember she blamed herself because she left the door open and didn't have you play next to her. She cried tears of joy when she held you. She was so glad you were safe.

"Your father had tears in his eyes as well, but while your mother hugged you, he kept staring into that temple...almost like he could see whatever it was that you had been giggling at. He just kept staring until Stella was finally was willing to share you again. Then your father looked you over to make sure you were unharmed and hugged you _como si se acabar el mundo_. But I will tell you, as we stared into that temple, we felt suddenly uneasy...a dark and-how you do you say?- _presentimiento_ feeling. It spread through us with sudden force. A feeling I had never felt before. _Nunca._ It was like doom. _Malvado._

"All the way home to the cabin in that deep darkness, your mother held you tight. When we got back I heard your mother talking to your father. Your mother didn't want to stay here anymore, she wanted you all to go home. And your father agreed.

"They packed up and left the next day. Your dad didn't even finish his work. They both loved you, Arnold, very much. They wanted you to be safe. They wanted to protect you from all the harm of the jungle. You were their world, and they never wanted you to be in harm's way again.

A thick, tangible silence spreads around the fire. My eyes quickly dart down to the ground, hoping no one's watching me. An all-too-familiar pain is starting behind my eyes, shooting through my head-that common pain of unshed tears and heartbroken grief; bottled up and buried inside for years. Never-endingly torn between the desire to hear more stories about my parents and the desire to avoid talking about them-avoid thinking about them. Most of the time I prefer to stuff those feelings and pain back inside again-hiding them from everyone and pretending like I'm okay when every day is a constant battle of turmoil and heartache inside me. A lump grows in my throat and a single tear trickles down my face.

 _My parents._ What I would give to see them, just once more.

I look up, not sure what caught my attention. But there's Helga, sitting across the fire, her large eyes fixed on me. Emotions I can't quite read are evident on her face: Sorrow? Pity? Compassion? Something else? I don't know or even try to figure it out because suddenly I'm filled with that feeling of warmth again and for once, just like that, the pain is almost gone. For once, embracing that warmth, I feel like I maybe someday I can find peace.

* * *

A/N:

Whoo! Yay! Another chapter down! What did you guys think? Did you like it? Was it funny? Interesting? Entertaining? Tell me all!

Also...I kind of imagine baby Arnold like my oldest...full of energy and never stopping. In fact, mine crawled at 5.5 months and walked at 7 months...so it's shockingly possible for him to have crawled so young!

And shout out to AibouFTW and Marie Allen for their amazing help on this story! Seriously! I'd still be stuck if it wasn't for their help! You guys are amazing! Seriously.

And a shout out to E. D. Alvarez90 for all the help with the Spanish, including giving me fun phrases to use. It was a huge help! And now I feel like Eduardo is much more legit. :-) Also, you're just awesome for a zillion other reasons...like re-inspiring "No Competition" and helping with my book!

Please remember to review and let me know what you think! Fun stuff!

XOXO,

Arnold's Love


	9. Baseball and Ancient Mysteries

Chapter Eight:

Stretching for a moment, I gaze up through the small clearing into the sky at the last wisps of golden sunrise; its orange glow dissolving smoothly into an ever brightening, deepening blue. Breathing in the refreshing chill of an early morning breeze, I hear the quiet sounds of the animals in the jungle awakening and the quiet distant conversations of my teammates, preparing for the day's adventure.

I'm really beginning to see some of the reasons my parents loved it here so much. The rich green of the massive expanse of jungle, the warm, luscious earth, and the stunning brilliant blue skies. So far the local people were helpful and welcoming; something that was not always the case in Egypt, a place full of differing peoples and religions and political turmoil. The animals and birds here are definitely striking in their arrays of exotic colors and coats. The endless canopy of leaves and other flora spreading as far as I can see, and casting a greenish glow to everything.

All in all, so far I'm was really enjoying this beautiful and peaceful morning.

"Hey, Walter Mitty, are you gonna join us or just continue daydreaming?" Helga's demand draws me back to focus. While the others are getting ready for our inspection of the temple, she volunteered us to play with the boys until it's time to go.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind playing with the boys, in fact, I did it all the time before Helga joined the group. But Helga's decided that we're going to teach them _baseball_. Not that there's anything wrong with baseball. I mean I've loved baseball since I was a kid. We played together in elementary school. But Sawyer and Ramses are six and three, respectfully, and I'm just thinking she might have been a little optimistic about their abilities. She waved me off when I told her so though, and informed me that she always carries a bag of gloves, balls and a bat or two with her, just for such occasions. Apparently she's played with many a group of kids on the streets of South American cities.

"Alright, name of the game's baseball," Helga begins in an authoritave voice, drawing the attention of the little boys. She's wearing a baseball hat—pulled low and dramatic over her brow—a glove on one hand and a ball in the other, and an arm around each of the boys. "Ever heard of baseball?" she asks them.

Sawyer nods vigorously. "Yah. You throw the ball and someone catches it." His eyes light up as he looks into her face. "Right?"

Helga purses her lips thoughtfully. "Well, that's some of it, Short-Stuff. Arnold and I will teach you the rest. What about you?" she asks, turning to three-year-old Ramses with a faux-serious face. "Can you throw a ball?"

The little guy pauses, a deeply pensive expression on his face. Then he jumps up, wraps his arms around her neck and yells, "yah, I throw ball. Wanna see?" He pulls away from her and reaches a little hand out for the ball.

Helga stands, handing him the ball. "Okay, show me. Throw the ball to Sawyer." Crossing her arms across her chest in her usual fashion she nods down at him. "Go ahead."

With great excitement Ramses pulls his hand back and readies it for the follow-through. With a great grunt he flings the ball, which quickly rolls off his fingertips sideways instead of straight. It's all I can do not to burst out into laughter when the ball hits Helga right in the stomach before landing on her foot. But when I realize I'm not really sure how this new, adult Helga will act from the mishap or my apparent amusement, I step toward the boys, ready to shield them from whatever Pataki rage might ensue.

She doesn't really move, surprisingly. She just sort of stands there with a crooked smile before finally speaking—which leaves me feeling a little silly for over-reacting. Of course she isn't going to freak out; she's an adult now. I have to stop thinking of her as the young bully, or even the grouchy teen she once was.

"Alright, seems I've got my work cut out for me, team," she states, brows furrowed, voice serious. "Have no fear; I'll kick this bunch of chuckleheads into shape in no time—just like I did, single-handedly, with my team growing up." She stands up straight, hands on her hips and a haughty look in her eyes as she directs her attention to me. "Why, if it wasn't for me, Shortman over there wouldn't be the shockingly talented baseball player you see standing before you today," she quips, a smile playing on her lips.

I shake my head, eyes half-lidded in amusement and a smirk on my lips. "Right. None of my talent is natural skill, it's all Pataki-brand training," I reply, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"You know it, Shortman." She adjusts her hat again, and then squats down once more to look Sawyer and Ramses in the eyes. "Now, what's our team name going to be? We need something that will strike _fear_ into the hearts of our opponents. The T-Rex Squad? Or maybe Knights of the Jungle? Oh I know!" She shoots me a meaningful gaze ripe with arrogance. "How about The Crackpot Mummy Capers?"

"I think a better fit would be Libelous Journalists," I reply, deadpan.

She glares at me playfully, and Lincoln steps up to put his face in front of hers. "No, we are gonna be...The Silly Team."

"The Silly Team?" she exclaims, her arms flinging out at her sides. "How in creation does that strike fear into anyone's heart?"

I hide a grin at her dramatics. "Just go with it, Helga"

"Fine." She folds her arms across her chest and grimaces slightly. "The Silly Team. Gather round...Sillies." You'd think she was going to throw up or something from the face she makes each time she says that. "Here's how to play the game. And let me remind you, rookies, there will be no funny business."

I snort, attempting to hold back the laughter bubbling in my throat. "But, Helga," I say, turning on my most innocent charm, "aren't we The _Silly_ Team?"

"No more comments from the peanut gallery, please, peanut gallery," she quips, a slight chuckle escaping her lips. "Seeing as it's hard enough to carry around balls, gloves, and baseball bats, I'm afraid I'm all out of plates. But we'll make-do. This X that I've so artistically drawn in this dirt patch is home plate. That rock is first base, that bush is second, and that bigger rock is third base." Possibly too quickly she glosses over the basic point of the game—getting all the players home, how to get a player out, how to hit the ball etc. Then she turns to Sawyer. "You ready? I'll toss you the ball and you'll hold this bat, got it Short-Stuff?" she directs, looking down at Sawyer.

"Got it, coach," he says, standing up straighter, and nodding his head in agreement.

A smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she hands him a baseball bat. "Now, that's what I like to hear. Alright, Short-Stuff, when I throw it to you Arnold's gonna help you hit the ball with the bat...and you run as fast as you can to first base, got it?"

"Okay!"

This time she does smile broadly. "Perfect. After you hit it, I'm gonna try to get the ball and tag you before you get there. If I get you, you're out. And Pipsqueak?" she states, turning her direction to the wide-eyed three-year-old.

His brow creases into a frown and he scrunches up his mouth. "I not Pipsqueak. I Ramses," he states, meeting her gaze confidently.

"Pipsqueak is just a nickname, ok?" she teases as she pinches his chubby little cheek.

"I _not_ Pipsqueak, I Ramses," he repeats again in an irritated voice, the crease in his brow somehow managing to deepen even more.

Helga sits back on her heels with a chuckle. "Well, you're cute that's for sure."

"I not cute, I _Ramses_!" he fumes at her.

"Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on," Helga replies, taking off her hat to fix her ponytail and heaving an overwhelmed sigh.

"His shirt IS on, Miss Pataki," Sawyer states from his obedient position on home plate.

Helga smacks herself in the face dramatically. "I know his shirt on. It's a figure of speech, kid." She takes a deep, calming breath before letting it quickly out. "I'll tell you what, your parents are saints. Okay, _Ramses_ , Arnold will help you hit the ball next ok?"

"Okay!" Countenance once again chipper, he runs over to stand next to me. With care, I help him move a safe distance away from the arc of the bat before going back to stand with Sawyer.

"Hey, batter, batter, batter! Swing batter, batter, batter," Helga goads playfully, pulling her baseball hat down farther on her head and smacking a fist into her glove.

"Throw pitcher, pitcher, pitcher," I tease back, hoping to get a playful response from her.

She chuckles and rolls her eye, causing a warm feeling to grow in my chest. "Sorry, Shel Silverstein, I don't think that has the right ring to it. Good try though," she guffaws before tossing the ball gently to Sawyer.

Effortlessly I help him hit the ball and remind him to run for first base.

"Run, Forest, run!" Helga yells from her pitcher's "mound".

"His name not Forest, it Sawyer!" Ramses yells at her from beside me and I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh as she rolls her eyes and chuckles lightly.

It's surprisingly fun watching Helga interact with the kids. It's both reminiscent and refreshing. I can remember back in our elementary school days she'd take it upon herself to aggressively get us ready for an upcoming game against another school's team or a gang of bigger kids. She was rough and tough and no nonsense back then. She'd scream at us, berate us, call us names. But, alternatively, here she is joking around and patiently helping these two _very young_ boys learn to play her favorite sport. She is doing a great job at it. Sawyer obviously thinks she's amazing. The look at his face as he waits on first base for her to get the ball is pure admiration.

"Run for second base, Sawyer!" I holler, as Helga leisurely "runs" toward the ball to get it. "You can make it! Go! Go! Go!"

Helga reaches the ball and picks it up, spinning around to face Sawyer as he runs toward second base. She reaches up to throw it, but then bites her lip and "accidentally" drops it again. My cheeks are starting to hurt from this constant smiling I'm doing about Helga. This display is both hilarious and endearing; and so different. She would have died before letting someone else beat her when we were kids, but here she is making a fool of herself so Sawyer can win. It's probably one of the cutest things I've ever seen.

He makes it to the base just before she's able to tag him. "Crimeny! I guess you're safe, Short-Stuff," Helga smiles down at him. "High-five?" she asks, before giving him a huge high five. She turns back toward me and heads to the pitcher's spot again.

I can't help the grin that's spreading across my lips. "I saw that, Helga."

"Saw what?" She raises an eyebrow innocently at me. "I'm getting older...not quite as fast as I used to be. It's called old age, Hair Boy."

"Uh-huh," I reply, still smirking.

She bites her bottom lip in an attempt to hide her smile. "Wipe that dopey-eyed grin off your face, Football Head. This is baseball. It's a _very_ seriously game."

Turning to face Ramses, I laugh under my breath and can't help the pterodactyls suddenly flying around in my stomach. (What? Pterodactyls sounds way more masculine than butterflies...go with it.) "Whatever you say, Coach Pataki of The Silly Team."

"Heads up!" she yells suddenly.

I barely have time to react and catch the ball, just before it would have hit me square in the forehead. I glare at her in annoyance. "Thanks for the warning, Helga."

"Why don't you throw the ball and I'll help Pip—Ramses hit the ball," she says, ignoring my comment and walking over. "Then you can pitch it to me and I'll show these little guys how it's done." Her fingertips skim lightly over my skin as she takes the bat from me. Without warming, I feel that strange overwhelming heat again and there's an audible gasp from me from the extreme warmth at the place where her hand touched mine.

Using the switch as a chance to hide the burning of my cheeks, I turn my back to them and head back to "pitcher's mound" before doing a few neck stretches and shoulder shakes to get loosened up while Helga gets Ramses into position. Turning around I watch through my lashes as she carefully shows him how to hold the bat and where to put his feet. Seriously, this side of Helga—this kind, patient, good-with-kids side—is adorable.

"Alright, enough with the stretches over there, Arnold, this isn't the Olympics. Get on with it," Helga huffs from behind Ramses.

Winding up I send the ball gently to them. She and Ramses bunt it carefully and then she helps him run to first base, simultaneously telling Sawyer to run to third. After directing Ramses to stay on first she heads back to home plate.

"Okay, Team Silly, Coach Pataki's up, and you're about to see some serious…stuff," she makes an awkward face at her almost slip-up before continuing. "Listen close…when I hit it; Sawyer you run back here and Ramses you run around to each base and head back here and I'll follow behind-"

"What? You're just _assuming_ you'll get a home run?" I exclaim in exasperation. "Just like that? How do you know I don't have a mean slider up my sleeve or something, Pataki?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks, leaning forward and moving her arms out with a provoking head shake. "Pataki verses Shortman. There's no question. You've never outpitched me a day in your life, Hair Boy."

I scrunch my lips in annoyance. Apparently, her trash talk can still get under my skin. "We'll see about that," I whisper under my breath.

She tosses me a smug smile as she swings the bat behind her head, bending her knees to get closer to the ground. With that, I wind up and at the top of the throw, snap my arm and wrist in a downward motion sending the ball top-spinning forward at a stunning speed. Honestly, it's got to be one of the most perfect curveballs I've ever thrown.

Just as I think she's going to get a strike, I hear the crack of the bat hitting the ball and immediately look up to see it soaring over our heads, toward the tree line. I feel myself cringe. _Crap! Home run!_

"Run, boys, run! Pataki's serving up a win!" Helga exclaims, throwing the bat off to the side and racing toward first base.

Without a pause, I dash toward the direction of the ball, searching frantically through the foliage and finally finding it in a bush-Sawyer's already made it home and Ramses is on second…if I can just get back there and tag Helga out-

She already has her arms up in victory as her foot makes contact with second base and Ramses hits third. My blood's heating up in my veins, adrenaline pumping through me as I run back toward them as fast as I can.

"Yay, Ramses!" Sawyer cheers as Ramses hits home base. I snap my head quickly to look in Helga's direction; she's just hitting third and I've practically caught up to her. Pushing myself with every last ounce of strength I come up behind her.

"Not so fast, Pataki!" I yell, diving with the last of my energy and pummel into her midsection, knocking her to the dirt. I'm immediately greeted with an elbow to my face, and then one to my chest as she struggles to break free. Burying my face between her side and my arm, I attempt to protect myself, while simultaneously searching for the baseball.

I swear under my breath and Helga stops struggling for just a split second to look at my in shock, before throwing all her strength back into crawling toward the base, pulling me along with her and leaving the ball farther out of reach.

"No, you don't!" I exclaim, pulling her from the waist in the opposite direction.

"Just three more feet and I win," she grunts, kicking at me from her awkward position. "By the way…where's your…ball?" she manages to taunt through gasps for breath.

"Shut up, Helga," I grunt back, using every muscle I have to hold her back and simultaneously reach for the ball that's just a breath away from my fingertips.

"Not…on your…life, bucko," she quips, breathlessly and continues her excruciatingly slow crawl toward the base.

She's pulled me out of reach of the ball now, but I've got this. With caution, I swing my leg in an arc, encircling the ball with the top of my shoe and immediately sending it of the tip of my shoe toward me. Helga continues to painfully drag us both, inching closer to the plate. She's not going to make it. Not on her life. Not on _my_ life.

Grabbing the ball with one hand, the other arm still wrapped around her waist and pulling her back and away from home, I reach over to tag her with the ball. With reflexes like lightning she rolls away out of my grip and pulls herself up, stepping toward the base.

"I don't think so," I cry tackling her again and tagging her with the ball.

"Oh, yah?" she asks, turning in my grip around her waist and smirking. "Look where we landed, Shortman. Home plate."

I shake my head back at her and glare into her eyes, still keeping my fierce grip on her, as if that will keep her from being right. "Oh, yah? I tagged you _before_ we landed so you're out."

She moves her head closer to mine to glower into my face, our tangled position only increases in awkwardness as she does so. "You'd be incorrect on that one, we landed, and _then_ you tagged me."

"Psh. Whatever. You only got home because I tackled you—with the ball—onto home."

Both of us exhausted, out of breath and struggling to speak leaves us paused long enough for me to take notice of our...precarious position. I'm on top of her again, just like her first day here, only this time my arm's wrapped securely around her waist, and her hand somehow ended up on my chest. Glancing down at her hand, I feel a hot flush rise to my cheeks, my eyes sweeping over the soft strands of hair falling out of her ponytail and framing her face, to her eyes—the color of the lapis lazuli stones the Egyptians loved to much—and finally resting on her lips. A feverish heat courses through my veins and it's all I can do not to reach out and touch those curls of hair or run my finger across those soft, red lips—

 _What is_ wrong _with me?_

"We sure end up in a tangled heap a lot, don't we?" Helga states, drawing my attention back to her eyes, the heat in my cheeks only increasing, as I realize she's completely unfazed by me or our strange, twisted position.

 _Arnold, you_ idiot _!_

"I thought you guys were going to teach the boys how to play baseball, not wrestling."

I tear my eyes away from Helga to see Sandy and Soren standing above us. Sandy's got her hands on her hips and an attempt at a stern look, barely masking her actually amusement. Soren looks pleasantly entertained as his eyes slowly appraise our awkward position.

"See, Mommy, I told you they were fighting!" Sawyer states proudly from his spot next to his mom.

"Yes, I see that, sweetie. Seriously, you two..." Sandy's voice trails off as she shakes her head.

"We were just teaching them how to be a real winner and go for the gold," Helga replies casually, pushing against my chest, so I'll get off her.

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days," Soren asks, nodding slowly, his eyebrows raised smugly.

"Soren!" Sandy chastises.

Clumsily, I roll off to the side and sit up, my face still feeling hot, and now-familiar tingling in my inside me and I swear I can still feel Helga's warm hand on my chest as I glance at her briefly before turning back to Sandy and Soren. "A little competition never hurt anyone," I smile up at them. _Especially in this situation…_

"Uh-huh..." Sandy replies, obviously unconvinced.

"Hey, Sandy," Soren says, putting his arm around his wife's shoulders and gracing her with a suave grin, "wanna go play ' _baseball'_ with me?" He raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

With a quick, surprised gasp she smacks him on the arm, and rolls her eyes, but Helga and I exchange amused looks when Sandy bites her lips to cover up her delighted smile.

"What?" he laughs, trying to appear innocent, but failing miserably. Sandy shakes her head, her cheeks pinking lightly.

I shoot him a thumbs up with a slight chuckle. But then Helga smacks me before breaking into her own laughter as well.

"Eduardo's meeting us up at the temple soon, so let's get moving guys. Chop, chop," Sandy calls, already on the move back toward camp. "Come on boys, you're gonna play with Antoinette while we're gone. Ready, set, go!" she yells to the boys before racing to the campsite with them.

"Antoinette's not coming with us?" I ask, matching step with Soren as he trails slightly behind his family.

"Nah, she wanted to stay behind," he replies with a shrug.

"I'll just clean up and catch up with you guys," Helga calls from behind us, and Soren waves an absent-minded response.

"If you ask me," Soren says, lowering his force secretly, "I think Antoinette just wants an excuse to have a break from Richard's constant advances." He chuckles to himself as we continue walking back toward camp. "That poor girl hasn't had a break in a week."

I nod in response, chuckling to myself as we reach the campsite. Yep, that observation is one-hundred percent accurate.

* * *

"Arnold, where's Helga?" Sandy calls approaching me as she puts a largely brimmed hat on. "We're ready to go."

"You guys go on ahead, I'll find her and we'll catch up."

After searching the entire campsite and not finding her, I decide to head back to the top of the hill to look for her. I'll be honest: at this point, I'm beginning to be slightly worried that she got lost on her way back to camp.

But no, I find her leaning against a tree talking to herself in a language I'm not really familiar with. She's talking intensely and throwing her arms around her vigorously, her voice dripping with deep feeling. I've never her seen her quite this…dramatic and emotional—at least not in this more soft, almost forlorn sounding way.

The unknown language falls swiftly and smoothly off her tongue at a outrageous speed, and there's no way I'll figure out what she's saying. Some of the words sound familiar...similar to some Spanish words I know. But the rest...sounds like rapid gibberish to me.

Finally giving up on figuring out what she's doing talking in a foreign language to herself, I speak up, "Helga? What are you doing?"

She looks over in surprise at me, her eyes even bigger than usual. "Uh...what...do _you_ think...I'm doing?"

"Talking gibberish...or possibly Portugese but I don't speak either so I wouldn't actually know," I reply with a casual shrug, but it's driving me nuts.

The usual smirk returns to her face and she laughs. "Wow, maybe you do have some knowledge beyond ancient cultures in that funny shaped head of yours."

I roll my eyes but smile back in response to her teasing smile.

"It's Portuguese. I was…" she stumbles over her words for a moment before finishing, "I was reciting a poem I read once and wanted to remember." Swinging the bag of baseball stuff onto her shoulders she walks beside me back toward camp.

"You speak Portuguese?"

"Well, doi. I have to cover Brazil, don't I? Besides, I have a knack for languages."

I glance up to her face in a bit of surprise. I have yet to meet anyone who can speak as many languages as I can. And I'm constantly surprised by the amount of similarities I share with Helga. Growing up most of the time I felt like of all the people I knew, I had the least in common with her. "What languages?"

"I can also speak Spanish, French, and most recently Green Eyes."

"Wait, what? Green eyes?" I sputter. Is there actually another person who spoke it?

"Okay, in all honestly I just started learning. But I'm becoming quite adept. Sandy lent me this book by some goof named Arnold Shortman and it teaches you all about their language."

I feel my cheeks flush. Why had I published that stupid book? And more importantly, why did I decide that lending it to Sandy was a good idea? Okay, obviously, I know why. But still, now I just feel like a big dork, especially the way Helga is watching me with that mocking expression on her face right now. "Aw, you think you're so funny, don't you?" I finally say. "Anyway, do you want to come with me to check out the temple?"

Oh crap, that made it sound like it'd be just the two of us. I need to add something, pronto. "Soren and Sandy have already headed down there and I thought you might want to see it..for your article." Well, that sounded lame, I realize I just made it feel even more uncomfortable.

Helga doesn't seem to notice and only nods excitedly. "Sure. I'll grab my camera and we can go. It's gotta be a lot more interesting than your boring dirt site back at base camp," she mocks, breaking into a run, leaving me behind, alone with nothing but my thoughts.

* * *

Even though it's one of the smaller ancient temples of the Green Eyes, and long deserted by their people, it's an impressive sandstone building. While the outside is weather-beaten and disintegrating, the inside is in relatively good condition. Colonnades line the large entry court, culminating in delicate, crumbling lotus blossom designs. Faded, once-bright colors cover the columns and walls. The artistry and style, of course, is reminiscent of the Egyptians, but on a much smaller scale. Faint sunlight streams through the windows, twisting vines, and crumbling holes casting a surreal feel to the place. Faded moss-covered murals, writings and carvings cover all the walls leaving me with the feeling that this was a grand, masterfully painted temple in its heyday.

As we slowly walk through the main court, one mural catches my eye. A green-skinned figure spans a space on the wall from floor to ceiling. His brightly colored robe, necklace, and feathered crown and scepter still flaunting its once-vibrant beauty. Leaning closer to study the adjacent words, I marvel at their carefully crafted lettering of each hieroglyph.

"I'm always amazed..." I mumble, but trail off as I rub away the moss covering some of the words etched there.

"Well, thanks," Helga states, causing me to look away from the wall to her direction. She leans her back against the wall next to me and begins fiddling with the settings on her camera. She's been snapping pictures since we started the hike up and was obviously adjusting for the lack of light inside the temple. "I hadn't thought I'd done anything amazing yet today. But, I guess it just comes naturally," she says with mock humility. With that she shoots me a wink and strikes as pose as if she's modeling for a magazine.

I try to ignore the immediate heat that rushes to my cheeks, and instead hastily think of a good response. "The day's still young," I reply casually. "But I don't think it'll be as amazing as the similarities between the writing of the Green Eyes and the ancient Egyptian writings."

She fakes offense before looking at me through the view finder of her camera. "You're _amazed_ by it still? Aren't you the genius who figured it all out?" she scoffs.

"Well, yah, I guess so," I chuckle, watching her as she leans back against the wall to adjust the settings on her camera once more. "Even still, it's kind of an incomprehensible thing-that an ancient people traveled all the way from the banks of The Nile to the Jungles of Central America and began an all new civilization. Astounding."

She shrugs and pulls the camera back up to her face and snaps a picture of me. "Columbus did it, didn't he? You know, traveled the ocean and discovered a 'new' land." She moves to take another picture of me but I turn away, simultaneously hiding the ever increasing flush to my cheeks. I think I prefer the dry desert heat to this humid, jungle heat.

"Yah, but about 3,000 years later then Wadjmose's family and with much more advanced technology." I shrug casually. "Far less impressive if you ask me."

"Well, if you ask _me_ , he was of an ancient civilization compared to us. So still impressive," she says, looking down at the camera in her hands and pushing buttons, turning dials. "Someday, in the future, people in spaceships will be just as impressed with Columbus as you are with What-ja-hottie, or whatever his name was."

I snort in amusement. "What-ja-hottie?"

She shrugs and lifts her head slightly so she's looking at me through her lashes. I can see a twinkle reflected from the light of the lantern and I can't help but stare. "Yah...I mean, he was an Egyptian prince, right? Everyone knows they're sexy, even if they look a little too cookie-cutter on the wall..." she trails off for a moment and pushes another button her camera.

I can't help but snicker. "I think you've seen one too many Hollywood interpretations. In fact, with all the inbreeding, they probably weren't very attractive at all."

She just scoffs. "Whatever, Football Head. You're probably just jealous." There's a slight smirk and suddenly she's showing me a picture on the camera screen. "Although this one would probably give What-ja-hottie a run for his money. Pretty sexy shot, if I do say so myself."

I'm only able to see the picture of myself for a moment because suddenly I'm staring at her instead with a jumble of mixed emotions. What? Did Helga Pataki just call me sexy? Did I just jump to a parallel universe or something? What is going on? I'm shocked, flattered, and speechless. And also…strangely thrilled by it.

Helga moves the camera back toward her as if she's going to look through it again, but instead, continues to smirk at me. "Of course, the photographer is to thank for that. We can work wonders, you know."

I'm surprised at how quickly I respond and smirk back at her. "Photographers like to say that, but we all know if you take a picture of a pile of crap, it's still crap. It's all about the model."

"Oh, so you're a model now?"

"Only for you."

I blink in surprise and my smirk falters. Did I really just say that? For the umpteenth time today, I feel my face heat up and am thankful for the dim light. "I mean, since you've been taking pictures of me all afternoon..." I add in a hurry, but then trailing off uneasily.

Raising her eyebrows, she purses her lips in amusement. "Well, Casanova, what's it say anyway?" she changes the subject, pointing back to the wall I've been pretending to study, while, in truth, I've actually just been studying her. "I mean, I haven't had time to completely study the brilliant works of Arnold Shortman, so I still can't read their language. Why don't we try a more...classroom type approach to this whole Green Eyes language-learning thing? Read on, Professor."

I laugh nervously, sweat suddenly forming on my forehead, my pulse speeding up. I would think I'd be plenty cool in this rather dank, shadowed temple, but apparently I'm not. And apparently I'm suddenly a speechless dork who has forgotten the Green Eyes language…and possible forgotten English as well.

She turns back to me and eyes me suspiciously. "Unless, of course, that's all phooey and you can't _actually_ read their language. Which by your long pause I'm starting to suspect."

Come on, Arnold. Speak. You know how to talk…come on…you can do it.

"Long pause? I've already started translating," I lie and attempt a casual chuckle, but it comes out as more of a deranged cackle. So I promptly clear my throat and play it cool. "It isn't a fast process, though. Not to mention, I'm a little rusty since I've been reading Egyptian so much lately."

"Eh, I got time. Where am I gonna go? Paris? I'll snap some pictures of the temple—or your sexy face again-while you work on it."

Oh, like that makes it any less stressful. But I can't help the excited thrill that runs through me at the thought of her calling me sexy—again!—and implying she wants to take pictures of me. So what if it's just for _The National Geographic_?

I set to work studying the characters and the phrasing, writing each translation down in my notebook, mumbling to myself as I do so, trying to drown out the overpowering nerves I still feel as Helga snaps pictures and wanders around the room examining things.

"Okay, I think I've finished." Finally, stepping back I gaze down at my notebook, the words long ago written by a Green Eye scribe whispering softly around me. Words that have likely not been read for at least a couple hundred years.

"You did? Or you _think_?" she quips, slinging her camera onto her shoulder and grabbing a water bottle from her bag.

I shoot her a playful glare before looking down at my notebook.

" _Glory be to Netur-Wahje, The Great Green Father, the great god, king of eternity, lord of the everlasting, who passeth through millions of years in his existence. Eldest of the womb of Mulnefer, lady of wisdom and light; engendered by Eymun, lord of the sky and the air. As prince of gods and of men, Netur-Wahje hath received the crown and the divinity of the divine mother, Mut-Wahje. Through him, the world waxeth green and bounteous and full of life. Bless thy children for all eternity, grant us endless blessings and eternal rewards, we pray. Praise thy name, O Netur-Wahje! Thy body is of gold, thy feet are of amber, thy head is of turquoise, and emerald light shines from thine eyes forever and ever."_

Helga lets out a sardonic whistle. "Wow, they had quite the flair for the dramatics, didn't they? Ancient Shakespeare perhaps?"

I roll my eyes and chuckle. "It's very reminiscent of the Ancient Egyptian style actually." I turn to her and narrow my eyes. "You mock it, but I think you like all the poetic descriptions...you know unless of course you're no longer the talented poet you used to be," I provoke, hoping to get under her skin. I could finally have my revenge for what she's made me go through today.

…But she appears unfazed except for a slight pink tint to her cheeks—almost indiscernible in this shadowy light. Perhaps, it just a slight sunburn from the morning's sun exposure, and my mind only wishes I was succeeding in making Helga blush.

"Eh, I still dabble in it now and then," she replies with a casual shrug.

"That's good. I always thought you were a great writer," I reply honestly. She'd won a few local awards and contests back in Hillwood during our high school days. How long before that she'd been writing, I don't know, but I would guess it was for a good long time based on her talent.

She stares at me for only the slightest moment with a rather shocked expression on her face, but then her eyes dart back to the wall before us. "So who was this Not-a-wad guy?" she asks without looking at me.

"Netur-Wahje," I correct out of habit. Apparently I'm surrounded by people incapable of trying to accurately remember the names we come across in our line of work. "He was one of the primary gods in the Green Eye culture and believed to be the first god-king of their people. See? More Egyptian similarity," I add, shooting a look in her direction, but her eyes are still ahead as she traces the words with her finger. "They believed their kings were part gods—just like the Egyptians. And they were thought to be direct descendants of the god Netur-Wahje. And Mut-Wahje was the other primary god, believed to be Netur-Wahje's grandmother _._ Similar in mythological role as the Greek goddess Gaia—the ancestral mother of all life. Mut-Wahje and Netur-Wahje, respectively, translate to Green Mother and Green Father. I've always found it interesting that they call the grandmother and grandson the mother and father, but I'm sure somewhere in their mythology there's a reason."

"Beep. Beep. Information overload. Malfunction...malfunction," Helga quips in a robotic voice. "Can't…compute." She pantomimes a robot turning off and slumps forward stiffly, leaving her arm swinging back and forth like the slowing pendulum on a clock.

I roll my eyes in slight annoyance. It's as if the woman can't take anything seriously. "Aren't you supposed to be remembering all this for your article? I thought it'd help you remember their names if I told you their meaning and mythology."

"Oh, I remember the _important stuff_ ," she mocks with a smirk. "Like I remember there's a god named Ankhresut. Tell me about him," she demands. "Is he on the walls anywhere in here?"

"Well, you can't seem to remember Wadjmose's name. I'd say that's pretty important." Looking back at the walls, thinking that maybe I missed something while translating I ask her, "and who are you talking about?"

"The Green Eye god Ankhresut."

I glance back at her still confused.

"Wait... _you_ don't know about him? Score one for Helga," she replies doing a little victory dance before continuing. "Two years ago when I snuck in—I mean, _accidentally_ walked into the off-limits Green Eye area, I talked to some local Guatamalans to get some information. They mentioned the disappearance of the Green Eyes, of course, but they also talked about the Green Eyes' god Ankhresut who was supposed to be their protector...or something to that effect."

The tickly pins and needles swirling around inside me are completely distracting as I stare at Helga Pataki in awe. To remember that—including the god's name, she really is obviously very interested in different cultures, just like she said. And _that_ fact is sending me over the edge with excitement and thoughts—subjects to talk about with her; things I would love to hear her opinions on—overwhelming in my mind.

"I'm impressed you remembered his name," I confess, finally with a slight raise of my eyebrows. Then quickly add, "Since Wadjmose and Netur-Wahje both seem to be _so_ hard for you to remember. I honestly know very little about their mythology," I continue glancing back at the mural of Netur-Wahje. "That's one of the things I really want to find out by studying these temples and other sites."

"I'm a well-known selective genius, Football Head," she jokes with a laugh. "I'll be honest though, I had to repeat it like fifteen times to get it right. The locals kept laughing at me. That hard A and then the H in the middle…ugh."

"Yes, there's a similar sound in Egyptian, it definitely took some practice," I reply, reaching up to touch the faded relief on the wall. "There was this one time that Soren..."

 _My hand traces the elegant mural adorning the temple wall. A tribute to the god Netur-Wahje my father painted nearly fifty years ago…before our people had been almost wholly swept off the face of the land. A work of art commissioned by the former king, His Majesty, may Ahnepu bless him for ever and ever in the afterlife. He had been an honorable king of grace and peace, who had loved his people with all his strength and raised two sons…two sons so exceedingly opposite indeed. Brothers much like the god Ahnepu and his brother Binukhet...eventually following a comparable end._

 _Light from my torch flashes across my ring—the rare lazurite stone set in a gold band—a gift from his majesty. The symbol of the king's own scribe. A royal office I was usually most pleased to hold._

" _Scribe Khamwazet, hast thou heard a word I've said?"_

 _The voice surprises me and I look up to see Grand Vizier Ptahu-Shepses, dressed in his colorful robe and gold-laden belt and feathered headdress. The light from the torch in his hand makes the gold and turquoise of his necklace and arm bands shimmer faintly._

 _"Yes, Grand Vizier, I apologize. I was engrossed in thoughts of my work on His Majesty's new temple. I did not mean to disregard thee." Quickly, I bow my head in respect._

 _The tall, acicular vizier nods, his black hair swinging down over his shoulders as he does so, the gold beads entwined around each small braid clinking softly. "Aw, Khamwazet, thy dedication is unmatched by any other scribe in all of Wahje. We would not have it any other way. His Majesty, like his father, may he live forever, is always pleased with thy work." He glances to the mural of the great king-god Netur-Wahje forlornly. "I am only sorry that these beautiful murals of your father's must be abandoned."_

 _I nod in response, touching the painting one last time, before sliding my hand away in despair._

 _Grand Vizier Ptahu-Shepses turns to me and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. "It is time, Scribe Khamwazet. Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje has asked to see thee in the burial preparation chamber. It is time. B—" his voice falters briefly, not wanting to give power to the owner of the name he had almost spoken. "_ He _has been prepared for the burial ritual. All will soon be well once more, praise Mut-Wahje, may she live forever and ever. Thou knowest what thee must do, correct?"_

 _Trepidation and fear flows through my veins. In all the history of our people no scribe has ever had the responsibility that I will carry in mere moments. All the events and fear of the past year or so, wash over me anew. Can it really ever be over? Can the reign of terror and evil ever really end? What was it the history of the gods says?_ "He would toil for eons, working to destroy the happiness of the Wahje People until Ankhresut shall come and free them." _Something like that. I had best not let His Majesty know I do not remember all of the tales of the gods if I am to keep my job as royal scribe and artist for the new temple._

 _Lines of fear tremble throughout my body as I follow The Vizier deep into the corridors of the temple. Dim light casts itself down from the sconces and torches along the walls, painting macabre, elongated shadows across our path. The smoky, sweet smell of copal incense and the soft scent of The Sacred Lotus, increases in strength the closer we get to the burial preparation chamber—both are appeals to the gods to protect us from the evil that shall hopefully soon to be far behind us and shall not come again in our lifetime._

 _Rounding the corner, I spot Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje waiting for us at the top of the stairs that lead down, incense flowing around her like a haunting mist. She rubs the gold arm bands at her wrists nervously for a moment before looking up at us. Those strange blue, kohl-lined eyes peer up at us solemnly, meeting mine in a look mixed with an array of emotions I can only begin to guess at. She is beautiful; and young to be the high priestess of our people, but many have had to take on more responsibility in the past few weeks at younger ages than ever before. Finally, she pulls her eyes away from mine and nods to The Vizier._

 _"Come." Her whisper echoes eerily through the corridor, the thin white dress of the priestesses flows softly around her feet as she turns her lithe figure to lead us down the staircase into the darkness of the burial chamber. Taking a deep breath I—_

"Arnold?"

I can hear a voice…faintly…as if the sound is traveling over a great distance. My head feels heavy and my mind muddled. What was I thinking about just now? _Something evil…something sinister…_

"Arnold?"

It's that voice again…a dull pressure in my head is making it impossible to focus. What was it I was supposed to be doing?

"Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje," I mumble, before blinking and becoming aware of a faint glow of light in front of me.

"Huh? Is that something you read on the wall?"

"What?" I ask, blinking away the confusion that clouds my mind. The world is swimming in and out of view.

"That name you just said. Was that written on the wall?"

My eyes clear slightly and focus on _her_ face, her fair hair falling softly on her cheeks.

"I-I-I don't remember." The faint glow of lantern light finally breaks through the veil covering my mind; _her_ lovely face gazing back at me.

"Arnold," she says softly, her voice a mix of sincerity and concern, "are you okay? You spaced-out midsentence and your eyes dilated so much they looked practically black. I was afraid you were going to have a seizure or something. What happened?"

She moves even closer, putting a hand to my forehead, and suddenly I'm surrounded by _her_. Her breath washes over my face, tickling my senses and clearing away the last of the blurry residue of the dream. My heart starts to pound and I glance at her lips, suddenly wanting nothing more than—

"Arnold?" she says again, louder this time and snaps her fingers in front of my face.

"Helga?" I ask, the fog finally gone as I look around at my surroundings once more fully aware of where I am—of _who_ I am.

She stands there, arms folded across her chest, eyes searching mine curiously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I reply, still fully rattled from my latest daydream.

This one was almost too real—the sights, the emotions-and felt almost impossible to pull out of. Almost like being startled awake by a loud noise during the deepest sleep cycle, only capable of being partially coherent because the grogginess of sleep lingers still and it's impossible to think straight or move without being clumsy.

She's eyeing me suspiciously and I heave a sigh. "I-I'm fine. Can we just drop it?"

She moves her face close to mine, looking into my eyes warily. My eyes drop to her lips again, and heat sears through me as the sweat pools on my forehead, remembering my slightly hazy moment of wanting to kiss her. Great, now my daydreams are making me so foggy-brained it's actually putting thoughts of _kissing_ Helga in my mind.

But she steps back and shrugs lightly. I force myself to take another step back. I'm starting to realize it's not the heat that always seems to have this effect on me—it's _her_. "It's too hot in here."

Before I even know what's happened, Helga starts singing and bouncing her shoulders slightly to her own rhythm, " _I'm too hot, hot damn! Call the police and the firemen, I'm too hot—hot damn, say my name you know who I am, I'm too hot—"_

Oh, man, I'm still recovering from my delusions of kissing her and now she's shaking her hips and pursing her lips as she dances to some made-up song. How much is a guy supposed to take? "Helga, what _are_ you doing?"

"What's it look I'm doing? I'm trying to lighten the mood by showing off some sweet dance moves," she replies, throwing in a little Michael Jackson style "whoo!" and moon walking away from me.

"Did you just make that song up on the spot?" I ask watching her as she still continues dancing to a beat only she can hear.

She stops short and stares at me in derision.

"What?" I ask, confused as to why that simple question would cause her to look at me that way.

" _Please_ tell me that's a joke," she replies, moving to stand in front of me again, a hand on each hip, a sharp eyebrow practically sky-high.

 _Don't look at her lips. Don't look at her lips._

"No…" I finally reply, looking at her _eyes._

"Bruno Mars?" she says.

I have no idea what she's talking about, so I take a chance. "Is that the name of the new Mars rover or something?"

"No, you dingus! Bruno Mars the singer! 'Uptown Funk'?" I just stare at her in bewilderment, I literally have no idea what she's talking about. "You've got to be kidding me? Where have you been the last couple of years?"

"Uh...the University Library...and the Egyptian desert?" I reply with a grin, feeling a little more like myself.

"You nerd," she laughs, her eyes sparkling with good-humor. "First thing we are doing when we get back to the tents is listening to 'Uptown Funk' on my Ipod."

I nod, feeling like a total moron as we amble down the hallway. Great. Now she just thinks I'm some big loser with no taste in music and no social life.

"Seriously though, Arnold, you're okay right?" she asks me again. "You kind of creeped me out back there with that wicked spacing-out you did earlier."

Honestly, I'm still unnerved enough by it all that I would rather not talk about it. But as I spin around to face away from her, I see the hallway from my…daydream…and can't help but wonder if that staircase is really there-just around that corner—leading down to what?

 _Burial Preparation Chamber_ , my mind whispers to me.

"Hey, let's go over here and see what's around the corner."

"Don't change the subject," Helga snarls. She's probably glaring daggers into my back, but I try to ignore it as I move forward. The faint thud of footsteps behind me shows that she's still following me. "Seriously," she finally says after she catches up to me, her stride matching mine in an instant. "I swear I was starting to think you were possessed by some mummy curse...like maybe," she pauses, her eyes growing wide and mock-spooky in the lantern light, "one of those Egyptian mummies you discovered wasn't so happy to be discovered and put an ancient curse on you."

I give her an eye roll. "Mummy curses aren't real, Helga. That's just superstition invented by the Egyptians to deter would-be grave robbers. Or even more likely it started in the Victorian time when everyone was really into the supernatural and the unexplained."

"What about Howard Carter and all the deaths that surrounded Tutankhamen's discovery? Wasn't there like a string of deaths following it?"

Usually only Egypt nerds would remember the name of the man who discovered Tutankhamen's mummy, and I have to admit I'm impressed. "Really Helga?" I exclaim, less impressed, however, by her apparent belief in superstitions. "That's because of mold spores and other dangerous germs within the bodies and once unwrapped they were set free, or," I add, "even more likely plain and simple coincidence."

"Damn it!" she cries, dramatically. "You're not the fruitcake archeologist my editor made you out to be."

"Thanks, Helga. Glad we could clear that up," I quip, turning and heading back down the long corridor.

Neither of us say another word as we continue down the hallway. It's funny, I would have thought the following silence would be awkward, but it isn't and I find myself feeling really content with just the fact that she's there. We each step down the hallway our steps become more in sync and once when our arms brush, I feel that familiar ripple of goosebumps run up my arm, and honestly, I'm kind of beginning to like it.

"You're sure it wasn't a mummy possessing you?" she asks again as we're about to round the corner.

I heave a sigh of slight annoyance before turning to her. "Yes, Helga, I—"

Helga shoots her hand out in front of me, smacking me in the chest and halting me, mid-step. "Helga, what the heck—"

"Shh!" she says in a voice much louder than the whisper she's going for. She nods in the direction around the corner, so I peer around to see what she's being so obnoxious about.

Soren and Sandy are standing there. He's standing in front of her, but slides one arm from around Sandy's waist before he turns to face us, leaving his other arm propped in a flirtatious manner next to her. She stays against the wall beneath his lingering position.

"What are you guys doing hiding over here?" I ask, ignoring the fact that Helga face-palms dramatically next to me. What's her problem anyway?

"Uh..." Soren says, glancing at Sandy hesitantly before look back at us. "Nothing?"

"Kissing. What's it to you?" Sandy asks, a grin on her face.

"Yah, kissing. What's it to you?" Soren asks, confidently this time.

"Uh wha-uh..." I kind of fumble over my words a little thrown off by their blunt candor.

Helga's unfazed. "Aren't you two supposed to be checking this place out to see if it's worth coming here next? Is this really the best use of your time?" she adds with a teasing smile.

"Definitely," Soren replies with a cheesy grin.

"And we are. We just took a little break," Sandy replies flippantly. "So sue us."

"Since I couldn't play _baseball_ with Sandy it seemed like a good idea," Soren adds, pulling Sandy dramatically into his arms and dipping her before kissing her.

"Nice," Helga laughs. "Take note, Arnoldo, _that_ is how it's done."

* * *

A long day of exploring the temple and surrounding area has finally come to an end. The sun is hanging heavy and low in the sky, and the heat of the day lifting in the shade of the trees around our campsite. After a little afternoon nap for some of us and quiet meditation for others, and Helga introducing me to the magnificence (her words, not mine) of Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars performing "Uptown Funk", the little ones had talked us into playing a game, their newfound love—baseball.

"Alright, team captains are me and Arnold," Helga says, pulling out a seemingly endless supply of baseball gloves and tossing them to each of us.

"You just want to be against him so you guys can _wrestle_ again," comments Soren from the sidelines with a snicker and a childish elbow to his wife's side. She shakes her head at him condescendingly but an amused smile twitches across her face.

"Whatever," Helga replies rolling her eyes. "Arnold's just the only legit competition in this band of blockheads." Then as an after-thought she adds, "No offense."

With good-natured replies from everyone else, we commence the team picking. When everyone is finally in position, I get up to bat I hear but turn back around when I hear commotion behind me, coming from my teammates.

"This morning you said you wanted to play _baseball_ ," Sandy is telling Soren, innocently, trying to hide a satisfied smirk.

He huffs in response. "You know _this_ isn't what I meant."

"Yah, well, don't worry. This will be more fun anyway," she replies, turning her back to him and laughing to herself.

There's a pause before he exclaims, "Wait! What?"

Still trying to hide her laughter and play it dead-pan, she turns back to him, "quit your whining and play ball."

With a dejected and somewhat childish kick at a nearby bush, he mumbles, "but I _hate_ baseball."

"You better not have said what I think I heard you say," Helga yells from her spot on the pitcher's mound.

"I said I love baseball," Soren calls back, faking a jovial smile. "It's my most favorite sport ever. Baseball, baseball, baseball! Yay!"

"He said he hates baseball," Richard hollers from his spot on first base.

Soren glares at him. "Rich, what the heck, man? I thought we were friends."

"I ain't friends with somebody who insists on calling me 'Rich'," Richard quips in response, and grins cheekily when Antoinette high-fives him.

Helga throws a ball at Soren, hitting him squarely in the arm.

"Ow! What the heck? What did I do?" he asks, rubbing his arm. "Did you see what she did?" he asks Sandy, who just shrugs nonchalantly.

"Say that you hate baseball to my face, geek-bait," Helga says, walking toward him in her most threatening saunter.

"Uh..." he mumbles backing away slowly, glancing to Sandy for help.

"Uh-oh," I chuckle, leaning onto the bat, "you brought out the Pataki. Back in the day she would be threatening to pound you with her fists…which she had names for, by the way."

"Look I don't fight girls," Soren muttered, looking slightly unsure of the upcoming outcome.

"Well, I guess this is the end then," Helga laughs. " _Crazy_ Arnold is the only person who knows the only way out of it," she says, staring Soren straight in the eye.

"That was when Harold was going to beat me up, not you," I reply, laughing to myself at the memory of when one of the bullies in our fourth grade class threatened to beat me up.

"Same difference because it would have worked on me too," she laughs, turning to me as I walk over to them.

"Dang! I wish I would have known that then," I reply, still chuckling.

"Well, now's your chance, Hair-boy. Save your friend," she says, pointing a thumb at Soren.

" _Don't hit me...I'll hit me! I'm crazy,"_ I sing, dancing around Helga and Soren while slapping my face crazily. And then with a wink to Helga I scat a little bit until I start singing, " _I'm too hot, hot damn! Call the police and the firemen, I'm too hot—hot damn, say my name you know who I am, I'm too hot"_ while dancing up next to her.

Helga grins proudly and joins in the song, joining me in my dane. Pretty soon we're joined by Sandy and Soren.

"Alright, enough, let me show you people how it's done," Antoinette laughs, coming to join us and pulling Richard along with her.

" _Uptown funk you up, I said uptown funk you up..."_

" _Vamos a jugar béisbol o de lucha_?" Eduardo calls from his spot on third base. "Lets play!"

"You ready, Shortman?" Helga asks, coming to dance in front of me briefly with a wink, before she heads to the pitcher's mound.

"Oh, I'm ready, Pataki." For your teasing, your laugh, your temptation, your _everything_. "Hit me with your best shot."

She smirks as she throws the baseball into her glove. Even from my distance, I can see the way her eyes sparkle with mirth. I'm ready for that too. "Oh really? I don't think you are. Don't brag about it, come show me, dude."

I snort as I lift the bat in the air, practicing for my first swing of the evening. She'll never give this song up, will she? Well, I guess I'm ready for that too. "Don't believe me, just watch, Helga."

The moment her laughter reaches my ears, my heart skips a beat in resolution. I _know_ what's happening when my cheeks flare up, when the sweat pools at my temples. I know and I am _so_ ready.

This could be an even grander adventure than any I'd ever been on, and I can't quite decide if that excites me or scares me.

But either way. I'm ready.

* * *

A/N:

Aaaahhh! Didn't you just love this chapter? I really hope you did because I'm in LOVE with it! Tell me what you thought! Everything! I want to know it all! Favorite part? Favorite line? Tell me tell me!

Now, that first scene, the baseball scene was literally based on my two kids. I even asked my 6 year-old "Do you know what baseball is?" to get his answer and then I asked him for a team name and he said, "The Silly Team" and so the dialogue was born. And the part where Ramses refuses to be called anything but Ramses is totally my 3 year-old. If you call him a nickname or an adjective like "cute" you shall unleash his tiny fury. In fact I came downstairs today saying that our cat was "a big piggy" and he looked at me and in his stern, reprimanding voice said, "Bianca is NOT a piggy!" I was in BIG trouble. And the "keep your shirt on" part where the older boy took it literally...is again my 6-year-old, he is just like his dad—totally a logical thinker so he takes everything literally—too literally. And that baseball scene was probably my favorite thing to write yet, especially the last part with Arnold and Helga fighting for the win. Haha! Oh man! See I told you I loved this chapter!

Now, this is important... Here's a HUGE shout-out to my beta and friend AibouFTW! I'm kind of a lame person and I always forget to thank her in my A/Ns. But guys, she is so awesome! She will literally drop everything if I need her to beta this fic in only a few days and I couldn't be more grateful. And I actually keep and cherish her beta docs because they are so fabulous! And her hilarious commentary keeps me writing! I've gotten to the point where I sometimes write the chapters just to see what her commentary will be! She's the bomb-diggity, ya'll!

And a shout-out to Marie Allen, because she was super awesome and willing to read the ugly, skeletal beginnings of this chapter for me because I was totally in a panic about it and afraid it wasn't going where I wanted it! Thank you thank you!

This was an extra long chapter, so give me an extra long review, eh? Tell me what you thought? How much do you love Arnold and Helga? And those OCs because they are a joy and a half to write! Your reviews are the only reason I keep updating so send a sister a nice word, kk?

XOXO,

Arnold's Love


	10. The One Hidden in Shadow

Chapter Nine:

At first there's only the refreshing chill of an early morning breeze tickling my face. Then when I open my eyes there's the soft, orange glow emitting through the walls of my tent as the morning sun begins its ascent into the eastern sky. Laying here, listening to the early morning sounds of the jungle my mind's eye illustrates the image of Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun, sailing across heavens in his boat, "The Barque of Millions of Years." It was believed that he existed to lighten the world after his nightly journey in the underworld, battling the forces of evil. I must be still half-asleep if I'm already pondering about that big ball of gas in the sky really being a sailor traversing in the skies. An interesting thought, indeed. I take my time as I get dressed and listen to the sounds of jungle waking up. The hum and buzz of insects, the cheerful morning melodies and chatters of birds, the thunderous wake-up calls of black howler monkeys, the roar of a jaguar in the distance. It's really quite a relaxing and almost soothing sound.

…At leasts, it's soothing that is until the raucous of Soren and Sandy's children interrupts my reverie. Fumbling with the last button on my shirt, I push aside the tent flap, and am immediately greeted with the sight of Sawyer and Ramses wrestling with each other while simultaneously trying to spit mouthfuls of water at each other. Sandy turns, mixing bowl in hand, to see their display of unruliness. With a heavy sigh, her shoulders sag. She's only been up for what I assume is maybe only an hour or so, but she already looks like she needs a nap.

"Oh, for pity's sake, you two!" she bursts out in exasperation. Setting the bowl down she comes to stand above them. "Eat your food or leave the table and go play!"

"What table? I don't see any table," Sawyer presses, giggling at his apparent wit. He gestures in front of himself to where only camping chairs are sitting around the fire pit. I lift a hand to stifle a chuckle at his antics. The last thing I want is Sandy directing that dark glare at me, especially since she probably needs help more than anything else.

"You know perfectly well what I meant, Sawyer Hotchner," she reprimands, a hand on each hip and an "I-mean-business" expression on her face. "Where's your father?" she asks just as Ramses blows bubbles into his water glass causing it to overflow all over himself. "Here I am trying to cook and feed the masses and he's off gallivanting in the jungle oblivious to the chaos." She rolls her eyes in frustrated annoyance before leaning over the fire to flip the pancakes.

Well, it looks like it's time to finally offer some much-needed help. Coming out of my tent to stand next to her I give her an empathetic smile. "Don't worry, I've got this," I reassure here and turn to face the boys.

First, I direct my attention to Sawyer who's chattering nonstop to Ramses. Patting him on the shoulder to get his attention I give him a friendly smile. "Hey, Big Guy, why don't you finish your pancakes and I'll let you play with that blue yo-yo that you like so much."

"Your yo-yo? Okay!" he yells, jumping up and down in his chair before literally diving into his pancakes.

Next I turn to Ramses who's staring up at me, with his bright blue eyes eager. "And Ramses," I say, my voice automatically changing to a more soft, childish tone, "if you eat your breakfast too, I have another yo-yo that you can play with."

He nods, his curly hair vigorously bobbng up and down with the motion, and takes a big bite of pancakes. I glance back up to Sandy, now the picture of relief as she mouths "thank you" before bending down to pour more pancake batter onto the griddle. Her whole demeanor has changed, it's like she was previously carrying the world on her shoulders, and now someone has finally given her helping hand.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, reveling in the soft breeze as it cools my face and refreshes my mind. It's nice to enjoy this moment of brief clarity while I can, before the harsh humidity and heat of the day imposes upon us. The air's still almost chilly and mist wisps up from the ground. The haze shrouds the sun blocking out most of the direct sunlight.

"Yo-yo! Yo-yo!" Sawyer sings, dancing around me like a madman.

"Yoyoyoyoyoyo," echoes Ramses, though I've come to doubt whether he's actually trying to say "yo-yo" or really attempting to spit out some mad rhymes. Or perhaps he's become a broken record. With the cacophony ringing through my ears, it's difficulty to think of anything of coherence.

"You'd think I fed them straight-up sugar for breakfast or something," Sandy sighs coming to stand next to me as we watch the boys run around.

With a small chuckle I call the boys over and head to my tent to get the yo-yos. I always loved them as a kid. I remember spending hours trying to figure out the latest trick—if I recall correctly—I wasn't half bad. There was one time I almost quit though, maybe since a regrettable… _incident_ , back in fourth grade, but Gerald gave me another one and reminded me how much I liked them, so I kept at it. They'd become quite handy as of late with the two little, energetic balls of energy and often proved to be a big help in keeping them entertained.

"Here you guys go," I say, handing one to each child. "Be careful," I warn with a quick firmness to my voice.

"And for heaven's sake don't twist them around your necks," Sandy adds with a tired hand to her forehead.

There's no sign whatsoever that they even heard her as they excitedly babble back and forth to each other. It's like they're in their own little world.

"Why do I even bother? You know, Arnold," she says, turning back to me, "I hope they don't ruin those yo-yos. I really try to teach them to be careful and treat things nicely but they've got too much of their dad in them. A regular old bull in a china shop." She shrugs before adding, with a crooked smile. "C'est la vie."

"Aw, so that's where they get it from," I chuckle. "And even if they do break them, it's no biggie."

"It's still very nice of you to let them play." She makes a delighted sound as she flips the next batch of pancakes for the final time. "Oh, and the pancakes are done. Do you mind waking up Helga and I'll go find the rest of the group?"

Before I'm aware, my breath leaves me, my gut wrenching like, I've been hit by a ton of bricks. The clarity of the morning chill now devolved into a muddled, stifling heat. What is wrong with me? I mean, I think I can guess what the problem is, but I don't think I'm ready to contemplate it this early in the morning.

When I make no sound of movements, Sandy pauses in her pancake stacking to look at me, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Not even a second passes before her lips turn to a smile that looks a little too smug for my liking.

Does she _know_?

Wait. _What_ does she know? Why should I even care if she knows anything? Maybe she's just—

"Arnold?" she asks, her innocent voice dissonant with her smirk. "You okay there, buddy?"

Oh yeah. Somehow I forgot that she is still staring at me. I resist the urge to face-palm. "Yah, I'm okay! More than okay, really! I'm just gonna…uh…" Crap. It's as if someone grabbed onto my throat with the sole purpose of making me look like a stuttering idiot.

"Waking up Helga for me?" Sandy finishes for me, her lips twitching at the corners.

Trying to look natural, I force my head to nod, darting out of her sigh before she can so much as snicker. My heart drops when I realize I must have looked like a deranged robot.

Wake up Helga. Right. A new morning; a new day. Right. Okay. I can do this.

A sense of foreboding permeates through me with a side of nausea. Yes, I know. All I have to do is wake her up. Easy as pie. Except I'm nervous. I guess I no longer can use the early morning as an excuse to avoid the inevitable. I _have_ to think about this now.

So yesterday's realization that I am, in fact, _possibly_ interested in pursuing her is…well, let's be honest here—it's freaking me out! What if this is more than just interest I'm dealing with here? What if what I'm feeling is _more_ than just simple attraction? And not only that, but what if I become…well, attached to her? I mean, the likelihood of her being interested in a weird, football-headed nutcase she knew back in school is pretty small. I mean come on! She's this gorgeous, charismatic, intelligent and successful woman…and I'm just an ancient civilizations nerd with nothing short of facts and dusty appeal to offer. Ugh. What am I thinking? What am I doing?

Stopping a few feet short of her tent, I glance back to see if Sandy's out of eyesight yet. She is. Good. I can't afford to have her see me make a fool of myself. Swallowing down this sudden nausea and apprehension I try to find words...any words…or even just _thoughts_ would be nice.

"Just be normal, Arnold. Just say, 'Hi, Helga'. Yah, that's good." I nod to myself, trying to build confidents. "Just remember, 'Hi, Helga,'" I repeat to myself beginning toward her tent again.

On the way—it's only a few feet but it seems like a thousand miles—I repeat a little mantra under my breath: "Hi, Helga. Hi, Helga. Hi, Helga. Hi, Helga."

But when I reach her tent I stop short. Am I supposed to knock? And if so…what the heck am I supposed to knock on? A flimsy tent is anything but solid and definitely wouldn't sound like anything. Or maybe I should just walk in? But what if she's changing clothes or something? I think I'll just try out the ol' "Hi, Helga" that I've been practicing.

"Hammer time!" I call.

 _Oooph. What? What even just happened?_

Glumly I smack my face into my hand and hope she didn't hear both my ridiculous exclamation and face-palm. Where did that even come from? Why am I such a complete moron?

When no sarcastic and mocking quip reaches my ear, I brush aside the entrance and peek in carefully to see if she's still asleep.

I spot her on her cot, asleep and draped languorously on it. Staring down at her I wrack my brain deciding on the best course of action. If it was anyone else, I'd just say their name and jiggle them awake, but it's Helga Pataki—whom I am apparently feeling some kind of… _something_ for.

Her eyes are closed, long eyelashes soft against her cheeks while golden tendrils of hair cascade around her face and pillow. The soft glow of day outside the tent gives her tanned skin and captivating radiance. The complete tranquility of her face surprises me. Although, I've come to know the more relaxed side of this confident and charismatic adult Helga—like comparing night and day with her school-girl counterpart—it's still a very different sight to see her so completely demure and at peace. Her breath, even and deep, causes her chest to rise and fall softly; no scowl or smirk mars her face; her delicate hand soft and relaxed beneath her cheek. I'm in awe at the beauty of a completely serene Helga Pataki.

Without even a second thought to any potentioal consequences I reach out to brush away a stray strand of hair from her cheek. But what began as an innocent gesture ends with a shrill, ear-piercing scream.

Mine, not hers.

She literally just bit my hand. Pulling back from her in complete horror I can only stare at a groggy-eyed Helga, her sleep-laden eyes glaring daggers at me.

"W-w-what the hell?" I finally gasp, causing a satisfied smirk to spread across her lips.

"Ooh, you're sexy when you swear," she goads, sitting up and brushing that stupid stray strand of hair out of her face. My fingers twitch as I watch her curl it behind her ear.

"Helga! You bit me!" I exclaim, dumbfounded.

She shrugs and stretches casually as if it's nothing out of the ordinary. "Of course, Dr. Shortman. You touched my face."

"I was just trying to wake you up for breakfast and you _bit_ me," I exclaim, feeling slightly betrayed as I look back down to my hand that's now throbbing in pain.

She twists her mouth sideways for a moment and then shrugs again. "I gotta protect myself, don't I?"

I gape at her. "From me? And your first instinct is _biting_? Who does that?"

"Piranhas," she retorts, rubbing her eyes.

I can only shake my head, still unconvinced. "Yeah, okay. But they're fish!"

" _And_ they're they kings of the sea," she replies, yawning and giving me a sleepy-eyed grin before falling back down onto her cot dramatically.

"Wouldn't sharks be the kings of the sea? Are piranhas even in the sea? I'm pretty sure they are freshwater fish."

"Okay, so you really wanna do this this early, Captain Ahab?" she groans grumpily. "Fact: all water leads to the ocean. Didn't you ever see 'Finding Nemo'?"

I'm definitely annoyed that she bit me, but I also can't help but notice how adorable she is when she's half asleep and her sarcasm game is a bit…skewed. Trying to hide my amused smile, I reply, "yes, but I'm pretty sure the correct quote is 'all _drains_ lead to the ocean.'"

With another deep groan, she slaps her hand to her face. "What? Are you John Ratzenberger now or something?"

"Who?" I ask, feeling confused again.

"John Ratz…you know what?" she interrupts herself. "Forget it. If you don't even know who that is this conversation is over. I'm too tired to explain." Then sitting up again she points a finger at me. "And next time you wake me up…don't touch my face or you might become the archeologist who once had ten fingers."

Throwing the blanket aside she stands up and a small flower falls off her bed and onto the ground. Reaching down I pick up the tiny orange blossom and stare at it thoughtfully. "Is this yours?" I question, handing it to her, a strange heat tensing in my muscles for some reason.

"What? You leaving me flowers while I sleep too?" she asks, eyebrows raised with a sense of impatience.

My heart picks up the pace. Does she know too? Why does everyone seem to know? I hope she doesn't realize how much I am internally panicking as I wave my hands frantically in front of myself and simultaneously shake me head. "No. I didn't leave it." The moment those words escape my lips, I feel hints of regret. Maybe I should have taken credit for it. Would she have been impressed if I left flowers for her while she slept? Then again, she did almost bite my fingers off for moving a piece of hair off her face…so maybe not. "Do you normally sleep with flowers?"

"Har-har," she says, rolling her eyes, amusement flickering across her face. "Where the heck did it come from?"

"Beats me."

"Yah, well, maybe one of Soren's new monkey friends left it for me," she laughs, placing it in her hair by her ear. "Now get out of my tent so I can get dressed," she adds, directing her attention to me once more and crossing her arms against her chest.

All the previous heat travels to my cheeks as I start backing out awkwardly— _seriously what is wrong with me?_

"Oh, uh, yah, the, uh, pancakes are probably getting cold."

She nods absently with a slightly patronizing expression on her face. Then, of course (because I'm just such a stud), I back up and trip over her suitcase, landing flat on my back.

"Real smooth, Shortman. Knock you off your feet, did I?" Helga asks, stepping closer to me with her long legs.

Embarrassed—and yes—distracted by those legs, I just stare at her like a fool.

"Just go already before I sock you into next week," she threatens, shooing me with her hands.

But still, I'm like some kind of idiot, staring at her…and her legs…and her lips…and her hair…and her blue—

"Are you deaf now too? Go already! _Crimeny_!" she exclaims, dragging me out of the tent.

And with a dramatic zipping of her tent, she leaves me standing outside her tent, still speechless still a big dope. I heave an annoyed sigh at myself before turning to head back toward the campfire and the probably cold pancakes. Yah, good going, Arnold. You'll woo her in no time.

I rub my cheeks, almost flinching at the heat. It's like they're on fire! I hope the blush is gone before everyone else can see.

"How'd it go?" Sandy asks, placing a plate of pancakes into my hands. Her lips twitch once again, probably taking in my flushed cheeks. I don't know why, but it unnerves me. "Is she coming for breakfast?"

"Yah, I think so," I reply quietly, sitting down trying to be inconspicuous as possible. Maybe she won't press any further. Or better yet, maybe she'll stop looking at me and talking all together and I can go eat my pancakes, alone, in mortified silence.

"Arnold, Arnold!" Sawyer calls, suddenly appearing out of nowhere, almost making me drop my plate of pancakes. " _Arnold_!"

"Yah, I'm right here, buddy," I state, having slightly recovered from the surprise of his sudden appearance. "What is it?"

"Watch this new yo-yo trick I figured out," he replies. With that he does some really silly and crazy swinging of the yo-yo in an attempt to do a trick. It's honestly the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"Sup, little homies?" a still groggy-eyed Helga greets them, plopping down in the chair next to me. I can almost feel the brush of her arm against mine, and the heat rushes its way back to my face full force. "Be careful with that thing," she remarks, gesturing to the yo-yo in Sawyer's hand. "Wouldn't want to go knocking of some poor jinx's fish, now would we?"

I shoot a glare in her direction. She's referring to the… _incident_ that I didn't want to think about earlier. The unfortunate time one of my yo-yo tricks went awry and landed in the fishbowl of our classmate, Eugene, consequently killing his fishy friend. The disaster that ensued after that—especially when Eugene attempted find a new pet, almost did me in. And _that_ is why I almost quit playing with yo-yos. So yah, I don't appreciate her bringing it up.

Sandy glances between us in perplexity for a moment, but when neither of us respond to enlighten her, she grabs a plate of pancakes instead and joins us at the campfire.

"Hey, Helga, where'd you find that _cattleya aurantiaca_?" Richard asks, leaning toward her.

"Cattle-antique what?" Helga asks, scrunching up her lethargic eyes in confusion.

" _Cattleya aurantiaca_ ," he repeats. "The orange orchid in your hair." He gestures to the little flower above her ear. "It's a flower native to these parts, but I hadn't seen one around yet."

She shoots me a jovial look that says something like "I bet he's the one leaving me flowers." But I shrug and turn back to my pancakes. I'm not in any kind of mood to be playing a game of 'Let's Guess Who Else Has a Crush on Helga'. The thought alone makes my head feel like it's about to explode.

"Eh, I found it on my bed this morning. I guess somebody left it there for me or something," she replies, winking at Richard. He immediately starts to blush and dives right back into his pancakes. I feel like heaving a huge groan of disgust, but instead hold it back.

"Ants love those," Antoinette remarks, eyes narrowed as she gestures toward the flower.

A slight look of panic surfaces on Helga's face and she looks to me with wide eyes. "Are there ants on it?" she whispers.

I shake my head and return to glumly eating my pancakes.

"Speaking of ants," Soren says, sitting down next to his wife. "I was thinking about them this morning."

 _What?_ A least I'm not the only one—everyone pauses mid-bite to stare at him. Sandy raises an incredulous eyebrow at him. "You were thinking about… _ants_? For what purpose, honey?" If I weren't in such a strange mood today, I might have laughed at the demeaning tone of her voice.

Ignoring any of those cues, he continues. "Okay, so you know how ants are super tiny and we hardly even notice them at all?"

"Yes…?" Sandy prompts, her brows scrunched up and an almost cringe-like expression on her face.

"Well, hardly noticeable unless we're talking about the _Dinoponera_ species. Which subsequently live in South America," Richard pipes in.

Soren rolls his eyes as he waves a dismissive hand at Richard. "Psh! I'm talking about _normal_ ants, Rich. Like our American ants. _Anyway_ , so they are tiny and hardly noticeable and they go about their tiny little lives—full of giant obstacles and stuff, with their miniscule little goals, and they probably don't even notice us because we're just so much bigger than them." Soren's brows furrow, in deep concentration.

"Where exactly are you going with this? Is there a point?" Sandy asks, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Just hear me out, okay?" he says, waving her off. He seems to be waving everyone off today. "So they never notice we even exist because we are so much bigger then them until one day they get stepped on and that's the end, right?" Everyone nods in puzzled response. "What if there were creatures so big we were the size of ants to them?" he adds in a staged voice. His eyes dart to and fro, obviously trying to use the art of dramatic pause. The art's lost on him.

Well, I'm definitely speechless. His wife just stares at him as if he's lost his mind, and Helga groggily groans from beside me, dropping her head down onto her chest.

"What?" Sandy asks, her voice faltering with disbelief. It's almost like she's questioning what made her marry him. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it…

"What if there are giants out there—so big that they are powered by nuclear reactions inside of them—that make us look like the size of ants?" Soren repeats again, deadpan.

"No, I got _that_ part. Like you mean there are giants on earth _right now_ that we don't know about?" She's scrunching up her face again in skepticism.

"No! Like in the future," he replies, still completely serious. I'm actually shocked that he's so into this train of thought that he's entirely forgotten about his pancakes. I half except to look up into the sky to see my late pet pig, Abner, flying above us.

"The earth's too small for giants that size," Antoinette comments from across the fire.

Sandy is still just gawking at him. Slowly she starts to shake her head and laugh. "Are you even serious right now? Or are you trying to be funny or something?"

"No. I'm being serious," he states, his face genuine. "Giant aliens and one day they just show up and don't even notice us and we don't notice them. Then they step on us, because to them we're just tiny, insignificant bugs."

"Um, how would we not notice _nuclear_ powered, _giant_ aliens?" I can't help but ask him. "Personally I think I'd notice that."

"First Arnold attacks me and now this acid trip of a theory," Helga mumbles, laying her face into her hand dramatically. "I should just go back to bed…maybe try again later."

"Señora Sandy, your husband _está loco_!" Eduardo states, shaking his head.

"Soren, _what_ are you even talking about? Are you actually serious right now?" Sandy asks again, the utter confusion and incredulity covering her entire face.

"No really. It's like a humbling thought, you know?" he replies, flicking a huge beetle off the arm of his chair. I almost laugh out loud at the irony.

"Dude, I totally get what you're saying," Richard chimes in, rubbing his chin solemnly. "It's like that _Doctor Who_ episode where the planet's moon was actually the egg of some alien dinosaur, and the planet's inhabitants never even knew. They just went about their life until one day their moon started to crack and then this baby dinosaur comes out and flies away."

Helga jumps up dramatically, her chair falling to the grass beneath us. "Oh my hell! What if _our_ moon is a dinosaur egg?" she exclaims. "Maybe our whole existence is dependent on that and one day we're just all going to die? Or what if the sun's not a sun at all but some hairy Dr. Suess-type creature and when he gets bored of watching us he's going to fly away and we'll be plummeted into darkness forever? And then the nuclear-powered giants will have a hat day smashing us into oblivion."

Oh, geez, Helga too? Everyone gapes at her until Soren clears his voice and then, deadpan, says, "that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

With what practically sounds like a growl, Helga falls back into her seat, smacking her face into her hand. Soren and Richard return to their discussion of the gravity of our future peril at the hands of nuclear-powered giants.

After breakfast, everyone separated, heading off to their own destinations. Helga went back to her tent complaining about a migraine after Soren's asinine theory, Richard and Antoinette went to collect wood to use for our campfire, Soren took the boys to play, and Eduardo went to take a solitary walk by the river. I chose to stay and help Sandy wash the dishes.

"Soren's watching the boys, right?" she asks me, handing me a plate to dry.

"Yah, I think so. They were all lying around watching an ant hill full of ants a few minutes ago," I reply with a chuckle. "I think Soren said something about not letting any creature, no matter how small, go unnoticed."

"What a weirdo," she laughs in good humor.

With another chuckle I ask, "so was Soren really serious about all that ants and giants talk?"

She pauses thoughtfully for a moment, before returning to the pan she was scrubbing. "I hate to say it, but I think so," she admits, scrunching up her lip slightly. "Honestly, it seems a little out of character. He's usually more…you know…"

"Realistic? Logical?" I finish for her.

"Exactly. That's why I had to keep asking if he was serious. I thought he'd been sniffing lotus blossoms or something," she jokes.

We both burst into laughter, sides aching at Soren's expense.

Catching her breath, she adds, "I kid, of course. Don't tell him I said that or there won't be anymore 'baseball' for me."

"Aw, what a shame," I tease, stacking the plates carefully into a pile.

"Arnold, would you mind running those back into the main tent for me? You know where they go."

I nod and carefully pick up the pile of plates. "No problem. I'll be right back."

As I head toward the main tent—which happens to reside right next to Helga's tent—I can't help but wonder where Helga's gone off to, if she ended up staying in her tent. If she did, it's probably to nap. I've hardly seen her at all today and after yesterday's revelation…well, honestly, I can't decide if I _want_ to see her some more or not. I'm still nervous and overwhelmed. And still feeling extremely inadequate, to be perfectly honest. What would a beautiful, talented, exceptionally interesting woman like her want with a boring, super nerd like me? She's _way_ out of my league.

"Okay, Arnoldo, the jig's up."

Startled by the sudden, unexpected sound of _her_ voice I run smack-dab into a tree, almost breaking every dish in the stack. Why can't I at least not be a humongous klutz when she's around? I mean can't that be the one thing I have going for me? Awesomely smooth and well-balanced? But no, instead I'm the biggest spaz this side of the border. (Eugene the jinx wins the other side of the border.)

"Uh, what?" I ask over her entertained chuckling.

Her shoulder is propped casually against a tree as she watches me. "I said, 'the jig's up'. Doi!" she smirks at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes. "Why do you keep leaving flowers for me? You got a thing for me?" she teases, strutting around me.

I stare at her in both embarrassment and disbelief. How can she already know I'm interested in her? And why does she think I left that flower for her. Because I _definitely_ didn't. Though I kind of wish I had, because it's driving me nutty that someone else is leaving them for her. "I haven't been," I finally say, trying to hide the bitterness and seem as laid-back as possible.

"Sure, sure," she replies, obviously unconvinced. "And I'm not allergic to strawberries. Come here," she orders, gesturing toward her tent.

I follow her like a dejected, little stray dog. Once inside she points to her bed where another flower rests, this time a large yellow one.

"Found that on my bed. And this one…on my camera lens," she adds, holding out her hand where another small pink flower rests.

My cheeks turn pink and now I'm feeling even more embarrassed. If she does think I'm interested…she's obviously not interested in me, which makes my chest clench uncomfortably. "Look, Helga," I say, rather sternly, "it's _not_ me. Maybe you just have a secret admirer," I add, trying to hide the inner cringe at the thought.

"Yah, sure, secret admirer…whatever you say, Arnold."

Her eyes appraise me skeptically. At the realization that I _have_ to be the bigest idiot on earth, I glance away, looking for any excuse to escape the accusation in her eyes. That's what I notice something I hadn't seen this morning.

"Helga…is that a _crossbow_?"

"Doi! A girl's gotta have some sort of protection against the creepers out there. And also for strange, football-headed secret admirers."

"Ugh." I roll my eyes and rub the back of my neck nervously. "So you chose a crossbow instead of something normal?"

"All the paramount bad-asses use crossbows, why would I pick something lame and common?" she scoffs, picking up the crossbow.

"Wait…your instinct when being woken up is to bite instead of reaching for your crossbow?" I ask, both shocked and then grateful she didn't use it on me.

"Always know your defense strategy, Shortman," she says haughtily. "Step one: render you enemy immobile a.k.a. bite them. Step two: annihilate them by crossbow." She shoots me a broad smile. "Lucky for you, I stopped at step one."

"Yah, I guess so. Eesh. Anyway, I gotta go help Sandy finish dishes. Good luck finding your secret admirer," I reply as we step out of the tent and nearly run headlong into Richard.

Helga wiggles her eyebrows at me and nods at Richard's direction. "Hey, Richard. What's up, Handsome?" she greets him, and I feel myself inwardly cringe. Hopefully, she didn't notice.

With as much dignity I can muster (which isn't much considering the day so far), I make my way back toward Sandy. Entirely bugged that Richard's leaving flowers for Helga. I mean it's _gotta_ be Richard. Wasn't he the one who knew what kind of stupid flower it was anyway? Ugh. But doesn't he have feelings for Antoinette? I feel like I don't even know what real life is anymore. Why? Why? _Why_?

"Oh, you're already finished," I observe, finally reaching Sandy, who's untying her apron and placing it in a chair by the campfire.

"Yep, thanks for your help, Arnold. I always appreciate it." She gives me a big smile.

I hear the sound of laughter and glance over to where Helga's laughing with a gentle hand on Richard's shoulder. I feel my eyes narrow and a muscle in my jaw clench. Then Sandy taps me gently on the forehead. Turning to her I see her watching me closely. She's a bit of a people observer and can usually read them well too.

"It's all gonna work out," she says. "Don't give up."

"What?" I ask, feeling a little confused. This reminds me of earlier this morning when— _no._ She _can't_ know.

Her mouth bends in a small smile as she winks. "You know what I mean."

I think my heart just stopped. She knows. She totally _knows_. But she _can't_ know! _No one_ can know! I hardly know myself!

My eyes move unbidden to the temple on top of the hill. Maybe that's a good place to be at the moment; a place where I can forget about any of this nonsense and get rid of this sudden urge to punch a tree.

And with that she turns toward the river. "I'm going to go find Soren and the boys and see if they want to go on a little walk. Care to join us?"

"No thanks," I call after her. "I think I want to take one more look at the temple."

She waves goodbye and continues down to the river. With one last—slightly jealous—glance over to see Helga _still_ talking to Richard, I turn to the temple and head toward my new destination.

* * *

Standing outside the overgrown temple, I pause, just savoring the moment. As fun and _enlightening_ as it was coming here yesterday with Helga, there's something very different about coming by myself and just taking my time to really enjoy the present.

Breathing in the humid air and savoring the fresh scent of nature, I close my eyes and listen. The distant gurgling of the river water, the quiet susurrating of the leaves in the breeze, the high-pitched call of birds and the playful sounds of the tree monkeys greet my senses. So different than the sounds of Egypt, and in many ways, more pleasing to the senses.

Gazing back at the temple, I find myself in awe of such an ancient accomplishment. It must have been quite stunning when it was in its prime. Fierce, weather-beaten jaguar statues guard the outer entrance. Vines twist and twirl around the pillared courtyard, where piles of crumbled and broken stones lie. A structure—which I'm guessing was once a sparkling fountain—still stands in the center, a flowering plant now overflowing from it. Steps lead to the inner entrance, some of the steps cracked from erosion. Large foliage casts shadows over the porticoed peristyle; it's slender, grooved columns also garnished in draping flora.

Once across the small courtyard and onto the steps, I head inside. Colorful birds take flight at my entry, the beats of their wings resonating through the bare main room. Numerous tall, narrow windows line the walls between each painted god; letting in only small slits of light. The ceiling is missing in some places, crumbled from earthquake, rain and age. Plants grow here just as they do outside. My footsteps echo eerily in the cold, empty room. Looking around slowly, I close my eyes and try to imagine what it must have once looked like.

My eyes widen when I hear the sound of a footstep…not my own. I hadn't been the one to move when I heard it. Something else had caused the noise. However, now there is nothing but silence. So much that I can hear my heart and even the faint beat of my pulse quickening in fear. The hair prickles on the back of my neck and the last thing I want to do is turn around. The room suddenly seems darker and more ominous. Shadows drown the room, like liquid, oozing out of the corners, seeping beneath the overgrowth.

Taking a deep breath I spin around.

There's nothing. No one. Just the same empty room as before. Heaving a sigh of relief, I turn back around and head into the darkened hallway Helga and I had ventured yesterday. Rounding the corner to where I had seen a staircase in my daydream, I sigh with disappointment. Nothing. Just the same dead-end as before.

It's cobwebbed and dank—lacking the usual embellishment and ornamentation. Only eight small, raised squares are there decorate the wall in front of me, each one containing the image of one of the gods, as well as their name. I reach out to touch one—

"What the hell are you doing, Indiana?"

Startled, I spin around. Helga's standing there, biting her lip to hide her amusement.

"You-you startled me," I explain lamely. Trying to both act cool and recover a bit from the surprise, I lean against a nearby column. I end up missing it entirely and pretty much side-face planting it instead.

She laughs lightly and pulls me back to my feet. "So, what's got you so jumpy?"

"Nothing," I reply tersely, dusting the cobwebs off my shirt. "I just thought there was a stairway here…"I trail off, gesturing at the blank wall.

"What? Are you crazy?" she exclaims, kind of hovering in my face. Even with her unnecessarily loud voice, I can't help but glance down at her lips. "This is the wall where Soren and Sandy were making out yesterday," she continues. "So you already know there's no stairway. Did you hit your head when you tripped over my luggage today or something? Is that where you came up with your latest harebrained theory?" She stares at me expectantly, and I realize she's waiting for an answer, so I glance back up to her eyes.

"Well, if we consider the layout of most Egyptian temples and assume that this follows a similar architectural style, then there should be a doorway here," I lie, hoping she's not as familiar with Egyptian culture as she is with those of Central and South America. "Instead," I add, "there's just this random dead end."

"Well, I'm aware that these are descendents of Ancient Egyptians…but that seems a little far-fetched, even for _you_ to believe," Helga proclaims, watching me closely.

"Uh-huh," I reply absently, reaching up to touch the name of Ankhresut, feeling it's thinly carved texture beneath my finger.

" _Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje, dost thou approve of the door?"_

 _Pulling my hand away from the carved figure I turn toward the door. My vision swims out of focus for just a second before refocusing again. The soft tinkling of beads from my weskhet necklace provides comfort in this recently emptied, forlorn temple._

" _Is it as thou wished?" Scribe Khamwazet asks, a nervous frown marring his handsome face. His short black wig frames his face and a beaded weskhet collar and ornate, gold Green-Eye pectoral of the god Ahnepu hang from his neck and broad shoulders. A colorfully embroidered sash is cinched around his waist, holding up his red knee-length kilt. A most striking young man is Khamwazet._

 _A blush quickly rises to my cheeks as I realize he has noticed my appraisal of him. A small smile of approval appears only in his kohl-lined eyes, his lips still unreadable. If only these weren't such dark times, and things of the heart could be more fully explored._

" _Yes, Khamwazet," I speak finally, the words coming out nervously. "It is beautifully done. Better than I had imagined. I thank thee." Anxiously I turn back to the door and away from his handsome face. "Grand Vizier Ptahu-Shepses should be here soon," I state, turning back to him, only to see he has moved closer to me and now stands directly in front of me, his dark green eyes full of determination and something else I can't quite read._

" _Ankhesen-Wahje, I—"_

" _Aw, there ye are," a voice speaks from the end of the hallway, surprising us both. The Grand Vizier approaches us and raise an eyebrow at Khamwazet's close proximity to me. The scribe immediately bows his head and steps away._

" _I apologize for my late arrival. The Divine One had some final requests to confer. Has everything been prepared, High Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje?" the vizier asks._

" _Of course, Grand Vizier," I reply, bowing as well._

" _I believe it is time for you to perform the ritual and blessing," he states, nodding in the direction of the door. "Scribe, you are to witness this as well. The Divine One has decreed it. Proceed, Priestess."_

 _Kneeling down I light a flame and the green incense begins to furl and swirl around us and fills the room with a calming scent. "Hail to thee, Great Green Mother, Mut-Wahje; Queen of Everlastings, the God of Gods, the Governor of Heaven, whose forms are manifold, whose existence is everlasting. Thy son Netur-Wahje hath ascended thy throne, and all life is with him. We beg you to send his spirit to us so that he may aid us in our time of great woe._

" _We call upon thee now, our Great Green Father, Netur-Wahje! We call upon you, Lord of the Thrones of Earth; Father and Maker of men and all that is above and below; Lord of Mercy. Spread thyself over us, so that we may be placed among imperishable heavens and never die. Open the way for the people; bless their coming and their going. Open thy way for them and those whom follow thee; and close the way for those who would seek to harm thy people. Close the way for him whose name is hidden. Send us thy son, Ankhresut, that when the time comes that he may deliver us from the Unspoken Evil. Bless him that he may wear the eyes of thy people and know what he must do. Keep him forever in thy protective shadow until the time comes for his ultimate undertaking._

" _Protect us from The One Hidden in Shadow. Grant us safety and eternal life. Receive us into Paradise. Comfort us with thy emerald tears, that we may live a million years in the radiance of thy love. May we ever walk in truth and balance that our hearts may be found pure upon the scale. Then shall we live forever in The Paradise of the Sun."_

 _I bend down, my forehead to the ground in homage. Silence churns around us until the last of the incense dissipates. I rise and stand before the great door—our only barrier against The Great Evil._

" _Matur-Wahje, Netur- Wahjet," I begin, pushing each square stone with the corresponding god. "Ankhresut, Binukhet, Ankhresut," I finish, wholly locking in the evil once and for all._

"Arnold."

" _It is done, Priestess. I shall leave to report directly to the king," the grand vizier states as we each bow to him before he turns on his heel to leave._

" _Binukhet is no more," Khamwazet whispers from beside me, a kind of reverent-awe in his voice._

" _Shh! Do not speak his name!" I cry, putting a hand to his lips to stop the cursed name from leaving his lips again. "Thou art foolish! Do not give him anymore power then what he has left."_

 _He grabs my wrist lightly pulling me to him. "I apologize, High Priestess," he says softly, his nose only inches away from mine and his eyes stormy and intense. Pulling away quickly he bows deeply. "Homage to thee, O Natu-Wahje. Forgive thy imprudent servant," he prays._

"Arnold, can you hear me?"

" _If The One Hidden in Shadow had become seer as was his intention, what would have happened? Thou knowest, High Priestess, I know thou does," he accuses, dark green eyes narrowed at me._

" _It could not have happened," I explain. "He was blinded by his hatred and lust for power. In that he forgot it was impossible. Only he of pure heart and true voice can speak with_ The Akhieb _. From everything we know about the gods and the coming of…The Shadowed One, we know there is no way he could have succeeded."_

 _He frowns slightly and glances around us, with caution in his eyes. "But at times like these doesn't it feel as though the gods have forsaken us?"_

 _I shake my head. My confidence in the gods can never be shaken. My parents rightly named me Ankhesen-Wahje: her life is of the Green Gods. "The Shadowed one is no more," I tell him. "How have they forsaken us?"_

" _Thee and I both know the prophecy, My Priestess," he says in a low voice as he places his hand on my cheek. "He_ will _come again. Despite all this—" he gestures to the locked burial chamber door—"he will come again and ravage our children."_

"Hello? Arnold?"

" _The prophecy does not state that," I respond, narrowing my eyes at him. "It only tells us that he shall come again."_

 _He shakes his head sadly, dropping his hand from my face. "If he almost destroyed us once…I'm sure he can find a way to do so again—perhaps even succeed this time."_

 _I stare into his eyes, into the fear and apprehension. "Have faith," I reply, pleading with him with both my words and my eyes. "Ankhresut will save us. He is the blessing the gods shall send."_

 _He glances down and laces his hands with mine for a moment before looking up to meet my eyes once more. "I pray thou art right, my priestess. May the gods have mercy on us, their people."_

"Arnold?"

 _Who is that? They keep interrupting my conversation. It's getting really frustrating. Each time this voice speaks that strange name it's like a painful string running through my mind, pulling me toward it. The more it pulls the darker and foggier my thoughts get…like swirling incense, so thick it blocks my view and clouds my mind._

"Arnold!"

 _There it is again—fervent and serious. Why do they sound so worried?_

"Arnold!"

 _Each time I hear it, the haze lessens. Through the darkness I can see a faint light, growing in size very gradually. And eventually a silhouette appears, framed in dazzling golden light. Who is that? She's beautiful…like the goddess Merutayeh—with her golden halo of hair and bright blue eyes…_

"Arnold, are you okay? Please, answer me!"

"Arnold?" I repeat, the word feeling familiar on my tongue. Something soft touches my forehead and then my cheek. I'm looking but I can't see clearly. Just that beautiful face, staring into my eyes. "Who art thou?"

"Arnold, wake up!"

I blink once more and realize that _I'm_ Arnold and it's Helga who's panicked face is peering into mine. I look around at my surroundings frantically—I'm back in the temple, standing with Helga in front of the door.

 _The door!_ I spin around and gaze at the faded carvings carefully. "What was the order?" I mumble to myself.

"Arnold, stop! Listen!" Helga's saying, trying to get my attention.

Ignoring her, I place my hand onto each square in the order I had envisioned the priestess doing it. "Matur-Wahje, Netur- Wahje—"

"Arnold, stop!" Helga yells, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me around to face her. I close my eyes in frustration trying to repeat the order in my mind so I won't forget. _Matur-Wahje, Netur- Wahje—_

"Okay, what's going on?" she asks me, a hand on each hip and a "no-nonsense" expression on her face.

I sigh in frustration. "What are you talking about?"

"Your 'special daydreams'," she replies mockingly, highlighting the last word with the infamous Mr. Simmons finger quotes.

I ignore her claims. "Helga, you know me. I've always got my head in the clouds."

"Arnold, that wasn't any _normal_ daydream," she accuses. "Your pupils dilated again, and your mouth was moving silently at first, and then you were saying all kinds of gibberish. It was like another language You and I both _know_ there's something going on here and you're not telling me."

"Sorry…uh…I guess I should have warned you," I reply lamely.

"Warned me? About what?"

"Well, I was busy analyzing the carved pictures here…and uh, I sometimes get so caught up in thought I don't hear people talking to me." The lie flows out of my mouth with more ease then I would have originally expected. I must be getting better. I can only _hope_ I'm getting more efficient. "So now you know, I guess. Sorry again."

"Uh-huh. Sure," she says, obviously not believing my bogus answer, but deciding not to push the issue anymore for now. Instead, she just glares at me, her strong eyebrows creased.

With that, I pivot back to the door and push the final squares. "Ankhresut, Binukhet, Ankhresut."

A deep, grumbling sound begins echoing through the temple. Small stones jiggle in their spots on the wall, some of them falling down around us. Helga's eyes grow even larger than usual as she gawks at me. A ground-shaking groaning and grinding starts as well, and the wall in front of me begins to slowly slide toward me, opening…like a _door_.

Just as suddenly as all the noise began, it stops, leaving us with only silence and a gaping doorway. Darkness, stale air, and dust billow out of the opening as I take a few steps back closer to Helga…away from the yawning blackness, holding who-knows-what inside of it.

"How the hell did you know to do that, Arnold?" Helga breathes from beside me, her hand finding its way around my arm, where it fearfully grips me—nails biting into my flesh.

"Harrison Ford taught me well. 'Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory,'" I quip, trying to calm the sudden uneasiness and impulse to leave.

"As adorable as it is that you can quote _Indiana Jones_ , I'm not buying it," she whispers, as our eyes adjust to the dark entryway, the dust finally settling. "Stairs," she murmurs. "How did you know?" She turns to me, our noses only inches away, our gaze meeting each other in the darkening temple.

Would this be a bad time to kiss her?

Arnold, duh! Of course it would be! What is wrong with me?

Without answering her I spot something on the wall next to the door—something that had been covered by cobwebs until the air escaping from the opening door blown them away.

" _Ey! Pah wa eymen meh chenew Shutyeh pah eymehut_ ," I read out loud, the words bouncing around the room with a looming echo. " _Wedja nellerew khaheleb hur zah na_."

"What?" she asks. Her attempt to sound more annoyed and less frightened fails miserably. It's getting more difficult to fight against my impulse to hold her closer, to offer her some sort of comfort.

"The words there," I reply, finally managing to get myself to pull my arm from her grasp so I can move closer and wipe away the dust and make sure I read it correctly.

"All it sounds like is a bunch of gibberish," she replies in frustration.

"It's the Green-Eye language, Helga," I chide, turning to glare at her.

"Well, doi! But how am I supposed to know what you just said? Sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me." She crosses her arms angrily across her chest. "Are you going to translate it for me or not?"

Attempting to suppress a shiver at the sudden chill running through my veins, I rub the back of my neck as I finish translating the words in my mind. I glance down the hall to the main room where the shadows seem to be growing thicker and darker by the second causing the daylight outside to appear as if it's fading. Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat I take a deep breath.

" _O! The One Hidden in Shadow Lies in the Netherworld._

 _This door shall remain sealed eternally, to keep The Evil within._

 _Beware any who try to open, or it shall be thy doom._

 _If the seal be broken, may the gods have mercy upon all mankind."_

I peer into the shadows, not realizing I've taken a step closer to the stairway until I hear the sound of my footstep reverberating down the hall. There's a heavy sense of foreboding, but at the same time a strong curiosity pulling me down. Is it the burial chamber from my daydreams? And if so what evil could possibly be inside? Wow, all of those ancient beliefs about the gods and evil…it's making my mind whirl, and I've never been the superstitious sort. At least, not since I was a kid. But that's all it is: superstition, ancient interpretations of things we know to be science.

Right?

"Arnold?" Helga says softly in my ear, now a lot closer to me. She must have taken a step forward as well.

"Yes, Helga?"

"Remember back in the day when we were kids and you used to be superstitious and believe in the possibility of everything?" she says, wrapping her arm around mine again and peering down into the deep, darkness.

"Yah?"

"I'm glad you're over that phase…" she breathes, her voice trailing off for a moment. "Otherwise, I'd be _really_ freaked out right now."

"Yah…" I reply. "Me too." Regaining my wits about me, I turn to her with an impish smile. "Ladies first?"

She shakes her head with a small smirk, but the apprehension still quivers in her eyes. "Haha, nice try. It's your discovery…lead the way."

I nod. This could be my chance to prove to Helga I'm not just a silly, daydreaming nerd. A chance to prove I'm something more. Someone who doesn't go running from an ancient evil. Someone who takes a risk, takes the opportunity for adventure and grabs it.

Unless I'm about to be all wrong and this is literally the stupidest thing I've ever done.

Lacing my hand with hers, I step down onto the first step.

* * *

A/N:

Whew! That took forever to write! So thanks for the patience! I'm gonna try to finish the next one sooner then a month this time.

One question I've been wondering is…who is your favorite OC and why? Just curious. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours! ;-)

Shout out to AibouFTW because she's my amazing, stupendous beta and I love her to bits! And you guys HAVE to check out her story she published his month "Yes, No, Maybe". It has literally become my current favorite one-shot, hands down! It's perfect fluffy goodness!

So a little tidbit. I was working on this story, and getting all kinds of ideas and one day I was like…"Man, I really want Helga to have a crossbow in this fic…but that's probably too random for a modern fic." And so I sadly decided against it. And then literally a few days later, the fabulous artist Mony posted an amazing picture of Arnold and Helga—and Helga has a crossbow! It's awesome, seriously, go check it out. Anyway, I was like oh my gosh this is so perfect…then I kept reading and she said that the head-canon she has now for Arnold and Helga was inspired by this fic…so after I finished fangirling and freaking out because I actually inspired someone to create such utter awesomeness, I was like "Okay, that proves that Helga CAN have a crossbow in this fic and it's totally believable." And thus, thanks to Mony, I was able to have my crossbow for Helga! Yay!

Another tidbit I learned while researching for this fic: there's actually a wiki-how about how to safely swim with piranhas. Who knew, right?

And last tidbit for anyone still reading this silly author's note…the scene where Sawyer and Ramses are simultaneously wrestling and spitting water at each other, was literally happening while I wrote that. And my husband actually came to me one night with the ant theory...I thought he was joking the entire time, but no...he was dead serious. And I laughed and laughed and laughed. …So needless to say "art imitates life", amiright?

Anyway, please review! You reviews are my life…I wouldn't have made it this far without them! Thank you!

Love,

Arnold's Love


	11. The Unsealed Tomb

Chapter Ten:

There's an immediate temperature drop as I take the first steps down into the narrow passageway. It only increases with each step. The smooth, cool stone of the underground wall slides past my fingers, almost a welcomed change from the regular heat and humidity of Central America. But the fact that my body is getting colder and colder is starting to make me unwary. It began at my feet—a wave of bone-chilling frigidness spreading itself around my feet like the lapping tide on a winter beach. It penetrates my clothes, sinking into my skin like wet mud.

I've seen enough clips of those ghost hunting shows while flipping channels to know that where there's a sudden temperature drop, there's a higher chance of a…supernatural presence.

A soft hand tightens in mine, its warmth such a startling contrast to the growing cold. Oh yeah, Helga's still right here with me; I _cannot_ chicken out now. I've got to have something going for me, so why not bravery and logic? Besides, there's no such thing as ghosts, or evil, or curses, so really…there's no reason to be scared either. Though honestly, I kind of wish Helga had brought her crossbow with her.

It's really dark in here. It's a good thing Helga thought to bring a lantern. I'd been so distracted by her advances on Richard that I'd totally failed to grab one on my way out of camp.

As if sensing my thoughts, she hands me the lantern and I hold it up high as we descend deeper and deeper into the ground. The faint scent of copal incense still lingers in the air even after so many centuries.

Reaching the last step, I squint, trying to peer through the darkness, but it's almost suffocating in its dusty murkiness.

"So…is it possible for it to be even _darker_ down here than in the stairway?" Helga asks, faltering in her stride for just a second before taking a tentative step off the last step behind me, her death grip on my hand showing no signs of relenting.

"Sure seems that way," I comment absently, passing the lantern back to her.

Slowly, with my free hand stretched out I grope along the wall until I find what I'm looking for: an ancient torch left behind thousands of years earlier. While this goes against every archeological bone in my body, I know I need more light to investigate this chamber, and maybe finally get answers to that strange daydream.

"Hold on," I say as I release her hand, regretting it the instant her lingering warmth begins to face. "I'm going to light this torch."

She shakes her head in disapproval. "Because _that's_ a good idea," she quips, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. "What if it's an ancient booby-trap?"

"It's not," I reply with confidence.

…Only I'm totally _not_ confident. What if it _is_ a booby-trap? Those rumors of ancients protecting their treasures with booby-traps aren't all nonsense. Either way…to late to back out now. Helga's watching. Don't forget that you're trying to impress her, Arnold!

"You keep smiling, Football-face. There'll be booby-traps yet, just watch," she states, placing her free hand on her hip, the picture of haughtiness. "I wish I had my cross bow right now. If any mummies come out of the woodwork I'd have us covered." She spins around and points a pretend crossbow at a figure painted on the wall, her stance a bit awkward as she tires to juggle gripping onto the lantern and affecting her usual posture. "Hey, Osiris, _go cry us_ a river! Do I need to call your _mummy_? Am I _tomb_ much for you guys? Of _corpse_ I am! Let's _wrap_ this up!"

"Something tells me if a mummy came back to life, it'd probably take more than just a crossbow and some ridiculously bad puns to finish them off," I reply, biting my lip in a heroic attempt not to laugh. I have a feeling I might be failing though.

"Ridiculously bad or not, you have to admit that was pretty good for off the cuff."

"I guess so. How did you come up with that stuff anyway?"

"I just thought of the kind of cheesy crap the Power Rangers would say if they were fighting mummies, and it just kind of happened."

Ultimately giving in to the chuckles, I finally light the torch. Turning to face Helga, I can't help the smirk that takes over my face. "See, scaredy-cat? No booby-traps."

My hand starts reaching out to her, as if on its own accord, as if it's drawn to her. Every instinct, every fiber of my being, is telling me to take a hold of her hand again. I mean, it _would_ be nice to feel the comforting warmth in this ominous place. But would that be too forward? Before I can follow through with the impulse, or let my brain catch up with my hand, Helga steps toward the center of the room. Well, I guess that decides it then. Attempting to disguise any hint of that blunder, I fling my previously outstretched hand to rake through my hair, letting out a quiet sigh. I hope I don't sound too disappointed. Taking a deep breath to ground myself, I move around the room, lighting the next torches. On the wall are paintings and hieroglyphics depicting the Green Eye mummification ceremony. A ceremony, I might add, that looks _very_ similar to the Egyptians' ceremony.

"Guess they didn't stray too far from their heritage, even after hundreds of years," I comment, examining the pictures closely.

"What do you mean?" she asks, coming to stand next to me.

"Looks like this room was used as a sort of burial preparation chamber—or 'place of purification'. See up there you can see the pictures detailing the mummification process and it seems pretty similar to the Egyptians style," I explain before moving along the wall to the next torch. Its subsequent light spreads across the floor revealing old stone jars, linens, rotting wood and broken stones.

"A burial chamber, huh? So where's the mummies?" she asks with a quizzical eyebrow raise. Does she sound… _disappointed_? Once again, I find myself holding in a laugh.

In the center of the room sits a large stone table—likely where the body was prepared for burial. "I said burial _preparation_ chamber," I reply, hoping to keep my voice steady. I can only _imagine_ how offended she's be if I laughed at her for no reason. "The bodies wouldn't be here. They'd take them elsewhere…although…it kind of seems like…"

"Yah, but look at that wacked stuff over there." She points to a nearby wall where the ancient reliefs are covered in what looks like graffiti. Taking a step closer to analyze it I realize it's not graffiti, per se—being that it's definitely of ancient origins—but it's almost like someone came and painted over what had originally been there.

"Is it actually words?" she asks, reaching out to trace the sharp, painted hieroglyphics.

Upon further investigating the wall, my mouth drops open in surprise. "Yes, it is actually. And it's the Green Eye language."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Translate it already!"

Somehow…since just yesterday, translating the words takes almost no effort. The translation flows through me naturally—the words flowing out of my mouth in a fluent stream. As if I've been speaking the language my entire life. Either that, or something's finally clicked and it's no longer a labor to translate.

 _"A great evil rose amongst our people in my lifetime. A god worshipped by followers of the dark magic._

 _"He rose as one of us, spreading his Evil Shadow amongst the Wahje People leading them to war amongst themselves in all manner of unspeakable ways. By the time he and his followers were finally defeated, two-thirds of the green-eyed people were no more._

 _"Dark magic is a powerful and perilous thing, and thus knowing, I, High Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje, knew that the body of The Evil One must be taken and hidden away from those worshippers who would try to reinvent him._

 _"His name has been stricken from every place—temple, home, and written document—so that he may no longer have power. From hence forth he shall only be known as The One Hidden in Shadow._

 _"This room has been sealed, and cursed with a warning to he who enters…only Evil and a great calamity shall befall this land if he is freed. His shadow shall shroud the land and trap our souls. And when that time comes, only the great god Ankhresut can save us all._

 _"I pray it shall never happen, but man is volatile and arrogant and it is only a matter of time before the seal is broken and His Shadow released once more."_

If Helga's also surprised at my sudden translation speed, she doesn't show it. Instead she steps closer to me and gazes up at the words, gingerly running her fingers over them again. I resist the urge to do the same thing…my track record for touching ancient things and then having powerful _daydreams_ isn't something I'd like to deal with again so soon.

"Man, whatever this shadow guy did…he put the fear of god—or gods—in them," she states after a while of silence, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. Her eyes find mine and she smirks. "Think it's legit?"

"What? The hieroglyphs?" I ask, not quite sure what she's referring to. "Yah, I mean they aren't as old as the original carvings that they're written over, but they're definitely ancient."

"No, 'The One Hidden in Shadow'," she replies, the Mr. Simmons quotation fingers returning with vengeance. "Think he really exists and that you, the _blundering_ archeologist, just released him?"

"I think the _blundering_ archeologist's _babbling_ assistant helped with that," I retort, narrowing my eyes playfully at her.

"Ooh, touché, Arnold, touché. But really, where do your thoughts lie with all this?" She gestures to the wall again.

Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I glance back to the hieroglyphics—the ancient warning stark against the original paintings. What _do_ I think about all this? Do I believe that an ancient evil was sealed in this room? If I was my nine year-old self, I'd probably say yes without a single thought otherwise. If I was myself a few months ago, or even a few days ago…I'd probably say no. But lately…with the strange daydreams, the random occurrences of an unexplained feeling of being watched…of the hairs prickling on the back of my neck far too often—well, I could almost believe that it was true.

But that's crazy talk. Ancient evil, curses… _magic_ —there's no way it could actually be real. Adults don't believe in that kind of stuff. We've had years of experience to prove it all wrong.

But, then again…what if—

A loud crash reverberates throughout the dark room and I spin around to see Helga, standing near a wall where a pile of wood and pots has fallen away from the wall, her face the picture of guilt.

"Helga, what did you _do_? Are you destroying yet another historical site?" The guilt written across her face is so panicked that I can't help but chuckle. "Didn't you ever learn to look and not touch?"

"Oh, I'm the _queen_ of looking and not touching. Just in a different sense." There's obviously a hidden meaning in her words, but for the life of my, I can't figure out what it is. "Hey, what's this?" she says distracting me from my attempts to decode the hidden meaning in her words. "Eureka! Look what I found! I think it's a sarcophagus."

Dashing over to stand next to her, I gaze where the ancient wood shelves and pot had been a second ago to see, instead, a small alcove with what definitely looks like a sarcophagus. Carved from stone, and painted with Green Eyes symbols, words and pictures—somewhat faded, but still quite well preserved.

"Take that, Dr. Shortman! I'm as cool as you now!" Helga squeals in excitement. "Now _this_ is what I call archeology."

"Nothing you've done is correct procedure for archeology, Helga," I reply, glancing away from the coffin to toss her a nice eye-roll.

She chuckles. "When dealing with evil curses and football heads, all correct protocol goes out the window. Fact."

I turn my gaze towards her and raise an incredulous eyebrow at her. "Oh? So you have experience in that field then? 'Curses and foodball heads'?"

Helga bites her lip as she glances away, obviously trying to hide her ear-to-ear grin. It's not working. "Well, _maybe_ the 'curses' part might have been a bit of a stretch…but I can say with full confidence that I am the most experience with football heads." Her eyes dart back to mine, my heart stuttering at the way they twinkle in the light of the lantern under hooded eyelids—like zircon hidden in a forbidden treasure chest. I have to lift a hand to the wall to keep me grounded. Who knows where I could end up if I lose the strength in my knees? "Enough to write a book even. Hell, I have a Ph.D. in that field."

I raise both of my eyebrows now, feigning astonishment. "Enough to write a whole book? Wow, Helga, where were you able to get the sources necessary to accomplish such a feat?"

She shrugs, her grin turning into a smirk. "That's for me to know and you to find out. If you're lucky, that is."

I return her shrug, feeling my own lips curling up at the corners as well. "And how exactly would I hope to, as you say, 'get lucky'? Can you think of a way to show me?"

It might have been my imagination, but I _swear_ I could hear her breath catch. And is it just me, or are her cheeks a bit redder? Well, it _has_ gotten rather hot in here, hasn't it? Or it could be just the combined hues of the firelight and the light from the lantern.

A brief moment later, she chuckles, and my heart only quickens, for now I can feel each puff of her warm breath as it brushes my face. "Oh, I can think of _many_ ways, you lady killer." Her voice is barely above a whisper now.

"Well, maybe—"

We both jump at the piercing sound of another crash. A cacophony of clangs, clatters, and clanks. Looking down to my feet reveals that I must have accidentally disturbed what was left of the pile of wood and pots that Helga had knocked over not even ten minutes earlier. Was I making a subconscious step closer to her? I glance back up to Helga nd my breath stops as she mirrors my actions and our nose touch. Holy cow, when did we get so close to each other? Why does this keep happening? It's like she's the brightest, most brilliant of flames, and I am but a moth.

We both let out forced chuckles and holy _crap_ , did it somehow get even _hotter_ in here? In my best attempt to appear as smooth as possible, I take a giant step back, careful not to disturb the increasingly awkward silence by avoiding the artifacts on the floor. I scratch the back of my neck, willing my mind to focus on something _other_ than the woman only a few steps away, while also resisting the urge to bury my face in my hands as I backtrack through that last conversation. Did I _really_ just ask her if she could show my how to ' _get lucky_ '? Never before have I wished more for a mummy to pop out of that sarcophagus next to us and swallow me whole.

Oh yah. _That's_ why we're here. How could I have possible forgotten? What happened to me being the guy who excelled at sorting out his priorities?

I shake my head and bite my lip again, now resisting the urge to reach out and touch the coffin. I guess I'm all about resisting impulses lately.

"H-Hey, I thought you said there wouldn't be mummies in here. That it was just , uh, a preparation chamber," Helga states, her voice a bit breathless, as she squats next to me to get a better look.

Wait…is she nervous too? Whether it's because she's embarrassed at my forwardness, or…something else, it doesn't matter. At least I'm not the only one.

"Well, something must have changed," I reply slowly, now hyperaware of every tremble in my voice. "The same way they edited the original writing on the wall." Pointing to a less smooth spot on the lid, I add, "I think this was the name of the person inside, but it's been sanded off."

"Wait. Do you think it's _the_ guy?" Helga whispers, suddenly sounding unnerved but at the same time excited. I'm glad it seems as if she's forgotten that earlier debacle completely.

"Well, I think so. This part here—underneath that sanded off part—says, ' _Here he shall remain, forever sealed….High Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje._ "

"That name…that's the name you said yesterday in the temple after your 'daydream'! And come to think of it, you read it on the wall a few minutes ago." She turns to me and gives me a skeptical look. "How'd you know her name?"

Pretending to be distracted by translating I reply, "I must have read it somewhere."

But from the corner of my eye, I can see she's eyeing me—watching me closely and with what I assume is a very doubtful look on her face. Her eyes narrow, and her mouth twitches for a second.

"They really didn't want him to be found," I say, trying to distract her.

She stares at me for a few more moments before she shrugs. "Do you think he's in there?"

"Well…he could be, but the original seal has already been broken so it's doubtful. Looks like even the Green Eyes weren't safe from ancient tomb robbery."

"Or it's those evil followers that priestess chick—whose name you magically knew—warned about," Helga breathes, her eyes darting to look behind me for just a second. "Should we open it?"

Sitting back onto my heels, I shake my head. "Well, I doubt you and I are strong enough to move the lid alone. I mean that's solid stone. And besides that, there are rules and procedures to go through."

She heaves a sigh and gives a dejected shrug. "Why do you have to be such a goody-two-shoes all the time?"

"People not doing things properly is what destroyed a lot of history in the past," I reply in complete seriousness. Ignoring her pleading eyes, I add, "How long have we been gone? I forgot my watch today. I think we should head back. Plus, then we can get tools and the others and they can help us open it."

Slowly stretching up, she groans. "Fine."

With one last glance back at the sarcophagus, we head back up into the temple. It's definitely darker up here in the main room than it was before. Glancing out of one of the tall, narrow windows I can see that clouds have rolled in and a big rainstorm is probably about to come any second.

"Hurry, lets get back to camp before it starts raining," I say grabbing her arm and running toward the entrance.

Almost colliding with someone it front of me, I jump back, knocking into Helga as the person screams. Helga steadies herself on my arm sending a ripple of warmth up it and it takes me an extra moment to regain my composure.

"Oh, my gosh, it's you!" I feel a wave of relief when I see Sandy's bright smile in the doorway.

" _Mi corazón_!" Eduardo breathes, coming to stand next to her, his hat held over his heart.

"There you guys are! We thought the giants had gotten you!" Soren grins, slipping his arm around his wife's waist as he joins them in the doorway.

"What?" Helga snaps, finally letting go of my arm.

"Just you wait…mark my words—"

"You know what?" Sandy says, turning to shoot him a death glare. "Just no. Go back to the kids and take them for a walk by the river."

"But we just got back from a walk by the river," he whines, his shoulders dropping.

"Well, go again. Or teach them some yo-yo tricks."

"Fine."

"Whipped," Helga mumbles under her breath.

"Shut up, Pataki," Soren says, shooting her a glare over his shoulder.

"Hey, Soren! Could you maybe go get Antoinette and Richard instead…and bring back the tools you'd need for opening a coffin…"

"Okay," Soren waves, his back to us as he marches back to camp.

" _Espere. ¿Qué?"_ Eduardo says, his eyes widening in curiosity.

"Yah, _where_ were you guys?" Sandy asks, looking slightly puzzled.

Helga and I lock eyes for a moment before I reply.

"We'll show you. Come on."

* * *

"I think just one more and we'll have it loose enough to open," Soren grunts, pushing down on the crowbar lodged underneath the lid of the coffin. "One, two, three!"

With a lot of groaning, we finally manage to push the lid aside. Stepping forward we immediately all gaze down into the coffin...only to see _nothing_. Literally nothing. Not even a bead.

"It's empty! That is so lame!" Helga moans stepping back into the main room and gritting her teeth. Yet again, I find myself on the verge of laughing at just how _disappointed_ she looks.

"Well, welcome to modern day archeology," Sandy replies, plopping her chin into her hand, as she gazes down into the empty coffin with a glum expression.

"Your job sucks," Helga retorts with a deep frown.

"Thanks," Sandy replies sarcastically.

A snicker finally escapes my lips, unable to hold back anymore. Both Helga and Sandy turn to glare at me, and I don't even feel the least bit sorry.

With a faint smile, Helga shakes her head before looking back at Sandy. "Sorry, you know what I mean." Helga shrugs, coming back over to stare into the coffin again—almost as if she hopes there will be something in it this time. "How disappointing! How can you guys do this all the time and come up empty and not be totally shattered?"

"Well, at first you kind of are," Antoinette replies, her tone melancholy.

"But then, you just kind of...get used to it," Sandy finishes, still gazing into the empty sarcophagus. "And you learn ways to cope with the disappointment."

"Or if you're a real man and don't get all depressed over silly stuff you find ways to help your wife cope so she's not walking around like a sobbing, half-dead zombie," Soren replies, leaning over to massage his wife's shoulders. "Chocolate's pretty magical," he whispers, to us as he hands her a Baby Ruth bar. "I always stock up on them when we go back to the states."

"But when you actually discover something—like the mummies we found in Egypt—then it makes it all worthwhile," I say, turning back to Helga.

She returns my smile before saying, "Yah, I guess I can see that. I still don't know if I'd pick such a disappointing career, but hey," –she shrugs—"that's why I'm a journalist instead."

"Well, the guy's not here anymore. Thoughts?" Richard states, leaning back against the wall, casually watching Antoinette. Too bad he doesn't realize how much he's failing at it. It's a good thing Antoinette is too busy inspecting the coffin.

"You think we let it out?" Helga asks, her tone somewhat joking but at the same time sounding a bit worried.

"No, that's just superstition," Antoinette states with a shrug, her eyes still on her work.

"If there ever _was_ a mummy it was already taken years ago. Or it was only a decoy anyway," I explain, leaning against the wall.

"That's actually kind of a relief," Sandy says quietly before taking another bite of her candy bar.

"What? You don't buy in to all that superstition do you?" Helga questions, shooting her a quizzical look.

"Well, I don't believe mummies can come back to life…but I believe there are forces we don't understand. I believe in good and evil…and I believe that evil can use those forces to do really...bad things."

I can't help the icy shiver that travels up my back at her words. Silence as thick and dense as fog fills the room for a moment as everyone ponders what she said.

"Can we just go back to blaming it on ancient grave robbers and leave it at that?" Helga says, rubbing her arms, looking as cold as I feel.

We funnel out of the hidden alcove into the burial chamber where Sawyer and Ramses sit quietly playing. Eduardo is there staring at the wall where the ancient warning is sprawled across it.

"You okay, Eduardo?" I ask him, coming to stand next to him as the others inform the boys that there's no mummy. Groans of innocent disappointment resound through the room, the echoes bouncing off the antique walls. There may have been a sob, but I'm not really paying attention.

" _Sí_ , Arnold," Eduardo responds, still staring at the wall and rubbing his mustache thoughtfully. " _El Escondido_. 'The One Hidden in Shadow.' I remember your parents talking about this Green Eye folklore."

"Will you tell us?" I ask him.

He turns his dark eyes to me and nods. " _Sí. Esta noche._ Tonight."

* * *

The sun has just finished setting as we sit around the campfire. Its flames sway with the gentle breeze, its light casting long dancing shadows across our faces and the trees surrounding us. The night brings such a silence that only the crackle of the fire, the soft sounds of conversation and the gritty, rich sound of my harmonica can be heard above the fire's blaze.

Sandy and Antoinette sit next to each other, talking about the discovery of the burial chamber, their animated faces illuminated up by the dancing fire. Eduardo stokes the fire with care, gazing into the golden flames thoughtfully as he and Richard discuss something or other.

"We're still waiting for the marshmallows," Richard hints from his place across the fire.

"Why don't you get them yourself," Antoinette replies rolling her eyes.

"Your _momma_ can get herself some marshmallows," he replies under his breath.

"Here's some marshmallows, Richard," Sandy chuckles handing him a small bowl of marshmallows.

"You're too nice to him," Antoinette states, shaking her head, but smiling all the same.

Suddenly a hand with a marshmallow pops in front of my eyes, causing me to startle and hit a bad note on my harmonica. "Marshmallow?"

Turning I see Helga grinning at me, a purple flower tucked behind her ear. Oh, yeah. With all that's happened today—especially between me and Helga—I somehow managed to forget about what sparked that pit in my stomach. I resist the urge to glare at Richard.

"Sure, thanks," I reply setting down my harmonica and accepting her offering. "So, uh, are flowers in your hair your new thing or something?" I ask, avoiding eye contact, but gesturing to her hair all the same.

"Might be," she replies, sticking a marshmallow on her stick. "Found this one on my camera when we got back today. It's pretty, huh?"

"Uh-huh," I reply absently, gritting my teeth to hold back my jealousy. Yes, I'm jealous. Who _wouldn't_ be jealous when a certain _someone_ is giving this feisty firecracker flowers and she's actually _accepting_ _them_? I can feel her puzzled eyes on me, but I do my best to ignore her, leaning forward to hold my marshmallow-stick over the fire.

"Mom! Mom!" voices scream from right behind me, causing me to drop the marshmallow into the dirt. _Dang it!_ I'm way too high-strung right now. Helga stifles a giggle before handing me a new one. Turning, I see Soren, with his little boys in tow, approaching the campsite.

"Yes, yes?" Sandy echoes, playfully, as she stands up to greet her family. "Are you guys finally back? It was getting dark and I was worried," she adds, shooting a meaningful look at Soren.

"Guess what happened!" Sawyer exclaims before Soren can even begin to reply to her.

"What?" she smiles, putting her hands on her knees and bending over to be face to face with him.

"I lost my other front tooth," he begins, his little voice rambling—a new lisp already evident in his speech. "See?" he asks, holding the miniscule baby tooth out for her to inspect.

"Very nice," she compliments, examining it in the firelight. "Now right there, that's some great tooth brushing you've been doing. That is one _sparkling_ white tooth," she smiles and sticks it into her pocket.

"And guess what else! Dad taught us a new trick with the yo-yo," Sawyer plows on, in his speedy little way, only tripping slightly over the newly found hole in his teeth. "And he was trying to show Ramses how to do it, and then Ramses tried to do it by himself, and his yo-yo went so far it splashed into the water and killed a fish!"

Helga and I glance at each other in amusement before bursting into fits of laughter with everyone else.

"And look, Daddy kept the fish and says we will eat it," Ramses exclaims, rushing toward his mom, dangling a fish from his hands.

Sandy pulls back in disgusts (she hates fish, that poor woman) and nods. "Yes, well, um…why don't you give it to Daddy and _he_ can cook it and I'll help you guys wash up, okay?" After having Ramses hand Soren the fish, with a slight grimace, she grabs his wrist and gently leads him over to the washing center.

"I think your yo-yo's are jinxed, Arnold," Helga remarks from beside me, smashing her marshmallow between her graham crackers and chocolate.

"It would appear so, wouldn't it," I laugh, shaking my head. "Poor Eugene. Imagine if he'd been here to hear that."

"Well," she begins, biting her lip to hold back her giggles, "we'd probably have another invisible hippo running around here."

With that I laugh so hard, I double. I wave my hand, trying to apologize before bursting into laughter again.

"It wasn't that funny, you big dork," Helga replies with a slow, amused smile inching across her lips.

But I lean over laughing again, harder this time, and she suddenly begins laughing with me. It takes a while for us to catch our breath, her arm draped around my shoulders as we laugh together. Plus, as if I'd want to stop laughing if it means I get to have her arm around me as long as I laugh the whole time?

When Soren finishes cooking the fish the boys sit down to enjoy their spoils. The pride on little Ramses face is so apparent I'm a little concerned he's going to pop.

"Well, this situation calls for only one thing…" I announce, solemnly. Picking up my harmonica after wiping the marshmallow off my lips, I place it there and begin to play the sad, melodramatic tune of "Oh, Shenandoah". I've barely gotten out a few bars of music before Helga doubles over in a fit of giggles.

She tries to catch her breath but can't. "Stop! Don't! I can't!" she breathes in between giggles.

"Hey, be quiet. I'm going to tell a ghost story!" Sawyer yells, glaring in our direction.

"Aren't you going to eat your fish first, honey?" Sandy asks, pointing to his still full plate.

"No, it's kind of fweaking me out. I remember its eyes too much," he replies, sliding it over to her. "Anyway, once upon a time there was this little boy and his little brother…and they went walking in a spooky, dark forest. They were looking for their lost dog."

"Of course," Antoinette replies with a grin.

"But what they didn't know is that it was a haunted forest. And then a ghost popped out and ate them all up. The end." He folds his arms proudly in front of himself.

"Terrifying," Helga quips, with a wink at me.

"Kay, your turn dad," Sawyer directs, reaching over to grab a marshmallow from Richard's bowl.

"Hey, that's—" Richard begins, but Antoinette bops him on the head to stop him. "Hey!"

"What?" Soren asks. "A scary story? Hmm…uh…okay. Once upon a time—"

"Okay, family," Sandy says with a shake of her head, "Let's talk…ghost stories probably shouldn't start with 'once upon a time'. If you're gonna go cliché at least use 'it was a dark and stormy night' instead."

"Whatevs," Soren says, shrugging her off.

Sandy looks at me with furrowed brows in puzzlement and mouths, "whatevs? What the hell?"

"Once upon a time," Soren begins, looking much more excited about telling a scary story than he should, "back in the 1980s, there were four boys. And they were playing a game of 'Dungeons and Dragons' in their basement."

"Oh, right on! That's an awesome game!" Richard exclaims excitedly. Antoinette shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"So they were playing the game when suddenly one of them got pulled through the wall into another dimension—a shadowy, creepy, dark alternate dimension with this creepy dementor creature—"

"Oh, no! I'm scared!" Helga says, her eyes wide with mock horror.

"Better call the police and the firemen," I joke in a rhythmic tone.

A huge smile spreads across her beautiful face. "Haha, yes, high fives!" she exclaims leaning over to give me a high-five. "You are awesome!" Yes, I feel like I finally accomplished something with her. Even if I can't impress her with flowers, I can at least make her smile with song references.

"Geez, be quiet, guys," Soren says in a perfect Kip Dynamite impression. "So after the dementor comes a girl with telepathy powers appears to help them and can move things with her mind—"

"Soren, really?" Sandy asks, appearing to contain her giggles with sarcasm.

"What? I haven't even finished yet."

"First of all," she begins, "dementors are from Harry Potter and, second of all, it's telekinesis not telepathy. And _third_ of all, that was just a really crappy synopsis of 'Stranger Things'."

"So what? That show is terrifying," he retorts with a dramatic shiver.

"No, it's not."

"Just because it didn't freak _you_ out, doesn't mean it's not scary."

"If you don't mind me asking…when did you guys find time to watch 'Stranger Things'?" Helga asks, an amused smile on her face.

"It's called a 24-hour flight from Egypt to San Lorenzo. Duh," Soren replies, in a tone that implies that everyone should know this.

"He was terrified the entire time," Sandy teases, reaching up to touch Soren's cheek.

"Was not. Don't spout lies, Sandy."

Oh, so _that_ was that they were watching on the plane. I remember Soren gripping onto Sandy's arm so tight, like his life depended on it. At the time, it was a fleeting thought, now a distant memory. Wow, I must have been so fixated on what we needed to accomplish after we landed that I didn't notice _anything._

On that subject, I find my gaze drifting toward Eduardo. Oh. _Oh_. He was going to tell that story…

"How about we let Eduardo tell us the story of 'The One Hidden in Shadow', eh?" I ask quietly.

"Is that the mummy?" asks Sawyer, jumping up and down in excitement.

"Yep."

"Yah, tell us the story about 'The One Hidden in Darkness', Eduardo," Richard agrees, sitting down as close to Antoinette as possible. She continues not to notice a thing. Poor Richard.

" _Esta bien_ ," Eduardo replies with a slight nod. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. "This is the Green Eye _mito_ that Arnold's father shared with me _muchos_ years ago when I was working with him on a Green Eye temple," he begins softly, the firelight flickering in his eyes as he stares into its depths. " _Por las tardes_ he would tell me the things that he translated off the walls. It was an ancient temple dedicated to the gods of the Green Eyes. _Muy bonito y muy grande_. Miles was very interested in the stories he found on the temple walls and because of that I paid close attention _y recuerdo_ —remembered the things he shared with me."

"Miles was your dad, right, Arnold?" Sawyer interrupts, looking over at me like he's expecting an answer.

That twinge of pain pricks my heart, but I swallow and breathe deeply. I show him the best smile I can conjure. I can't blame the sweet little guy; he doesn't know what happened. "Yes."

"He was a lot like Arnold. _Como dos gotas de agua_. He studied ancient things too," Eduardo replied, smiling at Sawyer and then to me. "And he was intrigued by what he learned, just like Señor Arnold. And he taught me those things, just like Arnold teaches you."

A big smile fills Sawyer's entire face as he nods vigorously before cuddling back in between his mom and dad.

"The Green Eyed people believed that in the beginning of the world—in the beginning of time, before man, there was only the heavens: 'Beyah'; and the waters of chaos: 'New.' And this place—this chaos was the ancient realm of the great goddess Mut-Wahje."

"Wahje," I interjected, "is the Green Eyes' word for green. You'll see it more and more as we are here longer. So her name, Mut-Wahje translates to The Green Mother."

" _Sí_. I remember your father telling me that as well. The Green Mother was the mother of all. She was beautiful and kind. She—"

"Like my mommy," Ramses exclaims with glee before whirling around in Sandy's arms to hug her tightly around the neck. "My mommy is beautiful!"

" _Sí, pequeño_. Your mother _es muy bonita_. Just like the goddess Mut-Wahje."

Ramses gives another energetic nod, stroking Sandy's hair lovingly.

"It is said that The Green Mother gave life to the god of the heavens, Hurr. Miles used to say that he'd read that at his creation Hurr proclaimed, 'Lo! I am Hurr, god of the heavens; I am Anjeu at dawn, Haru at day, and Wekh at eventide.'

"This all sounds very similar to the Egyptian God Horus," Antoinette comments, nonchalantly scooting a few inches away from Richard. Oh, so I guess she _has_ noticed then. Maybe that's why he's putting the moves on Helga.

Suddenly I don't feel so bad for the guy.

Helga chuckles. "More evidence that the football head isn't a lunatic, I suppose."

"Shh! Be quiet you guys! I want to hear when he announces the arrival of the dementors and proves you all wrong," Soren quips just before Sandy playfully flicks his ear in reproach.

Eduardo chuckles before continuing. "Together Mut-Wahje and Hurr ruled the churning chaos, until, from their union, sprang two children. Eymun, the son, became god of the sky and the _la atmósfera_. Mulnefer, the daughter, became goddess of the sun and of wisdom. With her she brought light to the chaos.

"Soon five children were born to them. Netur-Wahje, the eldest, was _leal_ and good; his green eyes reflecting that of Mut-Wahje. Favored and loved by Mut-Wahje, and both Eymun and Mulnefer, they granted that he should become a god and rule alongside them. But—"

"Wait…which ones Nutter-Whatever and which on is Mutt-whatever?" Soren asks, his hand raised as if he's in a school classroom.

I can't help the annoyed eye roll that takes over me. "Okay, can I just say something please?" I ask, standing up and putting my palms out. "Can we address this mispronunciation of names thing, please?"

"Yah," Sandy replies, her eyes shooting daggers at Soren, "why are you guys a bunch of idiots?"

"I mean this is your _career_ , guys, and you can't even be _bothered_ to remember ancient names!" I exclaim. "It's kind of important and kind of a HUGE part of what we're doing here."

Soren's mouth twitches slightly as he glances between me and his glaring wife. "Okay, okay we'll try harder."

"You too, Helga," I add with a smirk, turning to look at her. She's got a crooked and amused smile plastered across her mouth. "I'd like for the article you're writing to actually have correct information and representation in it."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant-Major, sir!" she quips, saluting me dramatically.

"May I continue, _por favor_?"Eduardo chuckles softly. "Netur-Wahje accepted his parents and grandmother's wishes for him to become a god."

"Really emphasize the names, Eduardo," I interrupt.

"Yah, there's going to be a quiz afterwards," Sandy pips in. "Anyone who fails doesn't get dessert. And I made chocolate cake. So…you know, big deal."

"Sorry, Eduardo, continue."

" **Netur-Wahje** ," Eduardo begins over-emphasizing the name dramatically, "became a god. But jealousy and _la envidia_ grew in the hearts of two of his siblings, Jehuwetyeh and Huaht-Shapzat. They wanted to become gods. So much so they allowed that envy to grow until it consumed them. So eventually they decided to…take his life and steal Netur-Wahje's glory.

"But because The Green Mother could see all, she learned of their plans of their _corazones traidores_ —their treacherous goal. So she warned Netur-Wahje—she told him he must leave, that he must run away— _fugarse!_ But she promised him that she would provide a safe haven for him…a place where he would be _seguro_."

Eduardo pauses for a moment to take a drink. Everyone's eyes are glued to him with concentrated interest, a hush surrounding us as everyone waits to hear the rest of the story.

"So she spoke and told the earth to rise out of the waters of chaos to form dry ground. And there she sent Netur-Wahje and his brother Eymunmaz with their wives, to live secure from the murderous hearts of his siblings in hopes that they would be able to prosper and live securely.

"When the youngest child of Eymun and Mulnefer, Nafaruty heard of the hatred that caused her brothers to depart, she was angry and her anger caused clouds and lightning to fill the sky. She cast Jehuwetyeh and Huaht-Shapzat out of the heavens, down to the earth and the underworld below, never to return to the throne of their fathers. She missed her brother Netur-Wahje _desesperadamente_ and her tears became the heavy rain that covers the earth, making her the goddess of the rain and thunder. They say when it rains it is her tears over her fallen brother."

"That's so sad," Sawyer whispers quietly from between his parents.

" _Sí, pequeño_. Once in his new home on earth, Netur-Wahje, The Green Father, created plants and animals to make the new world beautiful and _agradable_ for his family. He became god of the earth, plants, and all creatures—including mankind. His wife Azenat became goddess of beauty and fertility, her compassion and beauty bringing splendor to each of The Green Father's creations and bringing _alegría_ and happiness to the inhabitants. Eymunmaz, the brother, created the seas from the remaining waters of chaos and became god of the seas and shipbuilding, providing safe passage for mankind when needed.

"In the underworld Jehuwetyeh became angry over his fallen state and caused contention among Netur-Wahje's people, becoming the deity of contention and cruelty. Huaht-Shapzat fed off Jehuwetyeh's contention and became goddess of war and murder—causing evil in the hearts of man."

"This sounds like that story in that letter we found with the Egyptian mummy!" Soren yells, jumping up suddenly, excitement flung across his face. "You know the letter that Whats-his-nose wrote to his mom."

I smile proudly to myself. I'm not surprised by this declaration since I'd already suspected and proven the relationship. So it would only make sense for their "creation mythology" to have some resemblance to both the ancient Egyptian mythology and their founding father, Wadjmose's story.

"No cake for you, Soren," Sandy chides reaching up and grabbing the back of his shirt and pull so he'll sit back down next to her.

"I don't think I like this story," Helga says, reaching across me to grab another marshmallow. "It's proving the subject of my article to be much too sane." She guffaws lightly, elbowing my in the ribs. She can elbow me all she wants if it means her being close to me.

What is wrong with me? And isn't it night? Why is it so freaking _hot_ again? Jungles suck.

"Finish the story, Eduardo! What happened Netur-Wahje?" Sawyer asks, scooting close to sit at Eduardo's feet.

"Even our six year old son can get the names right, Soren," Sandy states, covering her grin with her hand.

He shakes her head in defiance and then turns to Eduardo. "What were you saying?" he asks him, in a tone telling Sandy he was going to ignore her comment.

Eduardo chuckles before continuing. "Jehuwetyeh and Huaht-Shapzat had two sons, Ahnepu and Binukhet. Ahnepu differed from his family. He liked mankind and did not want to see them hurt. Because of that he tried to protect them from his brother Binukhet. Binukhet, the deity of evil and darkness who's only goal was to destroy Netur-Wahje's people and take the throne and what he saw as his rightful place. When Ahnepu tried to stop him and protect humankind, Binukhet killed him, sending him to the underworld and the afterlife. Ahnepu trapped in the underworld, became its god and worked to make the afterlife a pleasant place for mankind.

"When Netur-Wahje saw what his siblings and Binukhet's goal was, he knew that there must be a _resistencia_ to all that his hateful siblings and nephew were causing...and from his union with Azenat, a son was born. He was named Ankhresut and he became the god of goodness, peace, and the keeper of dreams. He worked to stop, or at least, counteract the actions of Binukhet and his family, bringing balance to the earth and humankind.

"Netur-Wahje, it was said, became king-god of the Green Eyes, and all the kings after are his blood descendents and king-gods themselves."

"Just like the Egyptians believing that their pharaoh was the god Horus on earth," Sandy whispers, Ramses now asleep in her arms. "I'm really seeing a lot more parallels between their cultures than even before. Apparently their Egyptian heritage had a larger impact than I've already have witnessed."

I nodded and turned back to Eduardo as he continues.

"It is said that at one time Binukhet found a way to come to life in human form, and lived among the Green Eyes for a while before nearly destroying them. But they were able to overthrow him. Your father told me this," Eduardo frowns ever so slightly before looking at me. "And I think today, you found his tomb."

"Binukhet," Sandy says in a hushed tone. "Is that the name that must not be uttered?"

"Miles told me it was the name they eventually gave him after he had caused such trouble among their people," Eduardo states. "I don't believe it was his real name. _Pero ¿qué sé yo_?"

"It means Evil Shadow or Darkness," I explain quietly. "It's just another translation for 'The One Hidden in Shadow.'"

My thoughts jump back to what the High Priestess had written on the wall of the chamber:

" _A great evil rose amongst our people in my lifetime. A god once worshipped by followers of the dark magic…He rose as one of us, spreading his Evil Shadow amongst the Green Eyes. Dark magic is a powerful and perilous thing…His earthly name has been stricken from every place—so that he may no longer have power. From hence forth he shall only be known as The One Hidden in Shadow."_

I realize that I quoted the text out loud as all their eyes land on me. A frightening chilly prickle works its way up my spine, creeping down the length of my arms. Even the breeze and rustling of trees has stopped…as if everything in nature is holding its breath waiting for something.

Eduardo clears his throat and Soren lets out a nervous laugh. "Way to creep us all out you two," he says, standing up and stretching.

The others laugh and began chatting with each other, clearly moving on to different topics of discussion, but I can only stare into the flickering brightness of the fire. " _His shadow shall shroud the land and trap our souls._ " The priestess' words repeat themselves in my mind and the darkness of the jungle closes in around us—a darkness so threatening and suffocation—on every side.

Glancing up, I spot Helga watching me. She gives me a quick smile before accepting the pieces of cake Sandy offers her. Her beauty is emphasized by the contours of the darkness and the highlights from the fire reminding me of our time in the burial chamber, when playful words were exchanged and an almost mystical force drew us toward each other. My heart immediately begins to pound at the memory, especially because the brighter light of the campfire only further accentuates her splendor, now more like a fine art portrait with dramatic contrasts of lights and darks. Her brilliance and serenity is so opposite to the threatening, ominous feeling welling up inside me and seemingly filling the jungle. The breeze seems to be hushed and whispering an ancient warning, from a time long since past and buried.

" _His shadow shall shroud the land and trap our souls..._ "

* * *

A/N:

Hey, guys, sorry for the wait! Those of you who read the "No Competition" update know the reasons for that (illness, car theft, etc). My son this week got diagnosed with scarlet fever! Did you guys even know that was still a thing? I certainly didn't. Such is the life of a mom, I suppose.

What did you think of this chapter? Tell me your thoughts, and predictions! And I also want to know your favorite part of the chapter (or story so far if you want to share that) and/or favorite line of dialogue. I really, really like this chapter. Lots of good ol' Shortaki moments. I hope you liked it too!

And lastly, I want to give a shout out to my beta AibouFTW who is should literally be doing this professionally! She is AMAZING! And is helping me make this story as good as it can be, so I'm really grateful for her for that—not the mention the fact that she edited this even faster than I expected! Also sound out to E.D. Alvarez for her help with the Spanish. I wanted Eduardo to be legit and I wanted to do it right, so I'm really grateful that she took the time to help me with that. And shout out to everyone else who has answered questions and given me input that's helped with this story so far!

Thanks for your reviews! Please keep them coming, they really help me stay motivated! (And slightly off-topic, but thanks to the 23+ of you who reviewed the latest "NC" chapter! You guys are da bomb!)

XOXO,

Arnold's Love


	12. Midnight Confession

A/N: I don't usually do author's notes at the beginning but wanted to say…this is the longest chapter yet. I hope you guys don't mind. If it's too long, it's got a few breaks in there you can pause between. But I felt like this chapter _needed_ to stay as one, it just didn't feel right to separate it.

Enjoy and don't forget to review!

* * *

Chapter 11:

"Where's Helga? Shouldn't _she_ be helping us pack?" Soren asks, wrestling with the tent he's attempting to pack away. One of the poles springs out of his hands and smacks him in the chin. I choke back a laugh and hide my face behind the papers in my hand just as he glances around to make sure no one saw the mishap. Poor guy. Well, he _is_ trying, I guess.

" _Technically_ she isn't part of our archeology team, babe," Sandy reminds him, removing her sun hat and wiping her forehead with a cloth. After last night's heavy rainstorm, the air's even thicker than usual, pressing in on us with its ever-clinging moisture. " _Technically,_ she doesn't have to help us do anything. She's just supposed to write an article about…" she trails off, having noticed Soren's asinine attempts to fold up the tent. I bite my lip at the sheer perplexity that colors her face. It probably wouldn't do anyone any good if I were to lose myself in a fit of laughter. "Maybe she should write her article about how you don't know what the hell you're doing even after doing this type of thing for years," she declares, coming to stand next to him, a hand on each hip.

Soren groans and rolls his eyes as he looks up at her. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm packing away this tent." His exasperation with both the tent and his wife is more than evident in his tight jaw line.

Finally, biting my lip has become insufficient as the sound of my chuckles breaks the silence between the couple. "Soren, please don't break that tent. If you do, it will cost a significant amount of your paycheck," I tease.

He scrunches up his angry face even more until he looks a little like a bulldog. With violent movements, he continues his attempts at breaking it down, tent poles and canvas flying every which way—reminding me of an old _Looney Tunes_ cartoon when two characters are wrestling in a big mess of lines and dust.

"Didn't your Alaskan-wilderness-man of a father teach you how to do this?" Sandy asks, shaking her head. "That's not really how it should be done."

"That's not really how your momma should be done," Richard pipes up from the other side of our campsite where he's packing up his tools. Oh man, only _Richard_ would know right when to slip in a _your momma_ joke. I roll my eyes, even though I'm biting my lips once again in a vain effort not to laugh.

Her eyes widen slightly in astonishment as she places a surprised hand over her heart. "Richard! Goodness! I wasn't even talking to you!"

"Well, a good dude is always their to defend when needed," Richard replies, smirking back at her with childish insolence.

"Thanks, Rich," Soren chuckles, finally successful in folding up the tent. His proud smile almost distracts from his disheveled hair and rumpled t-shirt.

"I think the tent still won," I laugh as he stands up and adjusts his crooked pants.

Richard's eyes narrow and he glares at Soren. "We're not friends anymore, Soren. Stop calling me Rich."

"Okay, Dick, you got it," Soren replies with a tart salute.

Richard makes a disgusted noise. "That's even worse."

"Beggars can't be choosers, Richard."

Somehow this propels the guys into a stream of mock bickering so I turn to Sandy who has a lopsided, amused grin on her face as she watches them.

"Richard's good for Soren," she observes. "They somehow get each other's weird brains."

I chuckle at that. "They definitely do."

A warm breeze rustles the leaves in the trees above our heads. I enjoy that tiny bit of respite and try to ignore the way my shirt clings to my back on this humid morning. Sometimes I can't decide if I prefer this wet heat of the jungle or the dry heat of Egypt's deserts. Of course the day we decide to pack up camp would be the hottest day yet.

After getting back from the temple a couple days ago, we all agreed to pack up and move everything up there to work—even though our current work site isn't quite finished yet. We all feel that the temple is a much more valuable location to work on and therefore a higher priority. Helga is still with us—taking notes and observing. We haven't done any formal interviews yet, but we've been able to catch up more during meals and whenever we happen to see each other throughout the day. As much as I want to catch her alone again, there just hasn't been the opportunity yet. Not the mention the enigma of the ever present flower-gifts. Each new flower adorned on her person sends me out to the jungle with an insane need to punch something. Sometimes it's the trees. Other times it's the boulders. I really regret those times.

Regardless I just hope we'll be all packed up and moved to the temple location by sunset. Soren and Richard's inability to pack up tents efficiently has me doubtful as to whether or not that will actually happen.

"Hey, Arnold?" Sandy's voice pulls me back to the present. "If you wouldn't mind, would you take this lemonade and snacks to Helga and the kids?" She holds out a plate of small sandwiches, cups, and a big pitcher of lemonade.

"Sure. Where are they?" I reply, trying to hide my eagerness. As much as I would never admit this out loud, but—honestly— _any_ chance to be in Helga's presence has become my only goal these days. If I could I'd spend all day talking to her about Central America, inquiring about her adventures, listening to her tease me, and watching her get so animated about her passions. I can't imagine ever getting bored of it. I resist the urge to face-palm at how my heart rate picks up at these cheesy thoughts. Seriously, I need to keep my feelings under control.

"They were playing over by the jeep the last time I saw them," she replies, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

"Okay, no problem." I turn to head in that direction. Readjusting my grip on the plate, I steady the pitcher. The last thing I want is the syrupy liquid all over me, only adding to the stickiness of sweat and humidity.

"Hey, Arnold?" Soren calls.

I turn and look over my shoulder and grimace when I see the overly mischievous expression on his face. "Yah?"

"Try to refrain from playing anymore _baseball_. The kids don't need to see that." I press my lips into a tight line at the devilish grin spreads even wider across his face. Sometimes I'd like to punch the guy.

But instead of giving him the reaction he wants, I just roll my eyes and chuckle good-naturedly as Sandy smacks him on the shoulder and they begin arguing playfully back and forth.

Helga. Geez! Just when I thought I had calmed myself from my thoughts earlier, all it takes is for someone to mention her name again, and only the _thought_ of her makes my stomach churn and my body temperature go up much higher than it should. After those moments alone with her at the temple, I can't help but feel this thread of connection and attraction to her. I just want to spend every moment with her—talk to her, make her laugh so I can hear its sparkling sound, and even just watch her. I've felt more alive with her than I have in so long. But the rate at which I'm feeling, this is all more than I can handle—more than I can even process.

And that's what frightens me the most.

There's an innate desire in me to pursue her one-hundred perscent, but I'm afraid. What if I give my all—my heart—to her and she leaves? And she will leave. It's her job to leave and travel. And my job's no different. She goes where the stories are and I go where the artifacts take me. Neither one of us has a job that's practical for a relationship. It would be a lot of distance. And let's be honest—everyone knows that long distance doesn't make the heart grow fonder. It makes it grow fainter and eventually people forget about you and leave permanently. Especially when you just aren't interesting or special enough to keep their attention. I couldn't even keep my parents from leaving.

Not to mention the fact that she might not even have feelings for me! I mean, she crushed on me for years as kids…but surely, after all this time…she's seen me for who I am…and well, lost interest in me, that is.

I've spent so many years avoiding romantic relationships for these exact reasons and now I'm falling in love with someone despite it. From every single angle it's a no-win situation. There's no possible way she could love me now.

And so…what do I do? How do I just push these feelings aside and think about something else— _anything else_ —but the girl who has dominated my every thought since the day she tripped over a shovel and landed back in my life.

The jeep sits here alone, surrounded by nothing but trees and jungle vines. I don't see either of the boys nor Helga. My heart drops a little at the fact that _she_ isn't here and it's going to be even longer before I see her again.

Then the sound of giggling meets my ears. Pausing I glance around, straining my ears to hear another sound and grin when I hear a hushed "shh" from Helga.

As silently as possible, I place the food and lemonade on a nearby stump before tiptoeing close to the jeep, listening and moving as discreetly as possible.

"Meow!" I almost jump at the sound echoing through the area.

"Shh! Ramses, you gotta be quiet when you're playing hide and seek. That's, like, the entire point of the game."

I cover my mouth to muffle a chuckle at Helga's hushed voice and the amused lilt to it even as she's trying to sound stern.

"I not Ramses, I a kitty. Meow!"

"What?" Helga's barely suppressed giggles bring a huge grin to my face. I can almost see her adorably amused expression as she rolls her eyes and bites her lip to hold in her laughter. "I thought you were Ramses."

"Meow. I a kitty!" his grouchy little voice grows louder, practically booming through the area.

"Holy crap, kid," she whispers, finally giving in to the giggles. "I can't keep you straight!"

"Be quiet, you guys! Arnold's gonna hear us!" Sawyer's voice whines in a failing attempt at a whisper.

Having reached the jeep, I lean my elbow on the door driver-side door and peek over it to look down at the floor. Helga's lying on the floor of the backseat giggling, one of the boys on each side of her, her arms wrapped around them securely. "I think I found you," I grin at the adorable image in front of me and the warmth travels through my chest.

"Meow!" Ramses exclaims popping up from his spot on the floor and jumping into my arms.

"You're a good seeker," Sawyer laughs as I help both the boys down.

Chuckling softly, I reach a hand down and offer a hand to Helga. "Well, you guys aren't very quiet hiders."

Helga narrows her eyes at me, but I can tell it's all in fun. As she accepts my outstretched hand, heat immediately sears up through my arm at her touch. She places her other hand on my chest to steady herself and I hold my breath at the thrill it sends through my entire being. As if that wasn't enough I can smell the vanilla-berry scent of her perfume which sends me into some light-headed stupor. Geez, I wish I had the guts to kiss her. I wonder if her lips taste as good as her perfume smells!

Man-oh-man! I'm in trouble! Oceans and mountains of trouble.

"Well, smarty-pants, if it was you and I playing and not me and a gaggle of kids who can only whisper as good as Harold Berman, you can bet your Indiana Jones fedora you'd never find me," she retorts, pulling away both her hands to adjust the hem of her blouse. She looks back up at me after dusting herself off and I realize I should probably start breathing again. A stubborn strand of hair falls forward out of her ponytail. Without fully thinking it through I reach up and brush it away from her face and behind her ear. Her sharp intake of breath makes me freeze. I realize I almost caressed her cheek as well. Somebody stop me! I pull my hand back in slight mortification and shove it safely into my pocket.

"I-is that so?" I reply, trying my best not to be affected by the way her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them looking stormy and deep while her cheeks are bright pink from the morning sun.

"Psh! Of course. I could beat you in anything you name." She waves me off and kneels to retie her boot.

"Hey, boys, there's snacks and lemonade over there," I call, pointing toward the stump-turned-snack-table and watch them scurry over to their mother's snacks before directing my attention back to Helga. "Anything I name, huh?" I ask her, a feeling of euphoria rushing to my brain. I know I'm giving myself away as I bite my tongue and smile at her. "How about first one to take the other down wins." I can't even stop myself—my desire to touch again her is more powerful than The Nile's current during inundation. If I can't kiss her…why not wrestle her? That's sound logic, right?

She gives me a sassy flick of her head. "Oh you're on, Football Head."

Abruptly, she's down low, running at me and then pummeling into my midsection with all her weight. Thankfully my career keeps me in good shape so instead of already being knocked down for the count, I throw my weight in opposition to hers. She wraps her arms around my waist tightly and pushes against me. I slip my hands around her waist and pull up. Her legs come up off the ground so I'm holding her in a very awkward sideways angle across me.

"Hey!" she exclaims, immediately walking her hands up my legs and then my side in an attempt to straighten herself up again.

"Hey, yourself," I respond, tightening my hold around her waist and loving every minute of our closeness—no matter how inelegant. I bend my knees and then quickly hop back up straight. Using the force of the movement I flip her over onto her back so she's cradled in my arm. "Well, hello, m'lady. Your knight in shining armor is here," I tease, her face pink from exertion and creased in frustration.

She scrunches up her lips and glares at me before she begins kicking her legs wildly and pushing on my chest to escape.

I only chuckle at her vain attempts at getting herself free. "I'm pretty sure the knight who saves the damsel in distress usually gets some kind of reward. You know like a—" but she cuts me off as she frees her legs and they swing to the ground.

My arms are still tight around her. Her arms are crossed and pinned against herself. Now we're face-to-face, panting—warm breath tickling our noses.

"I'm no damsel in distress," she gasps, staring into my eyes for a moment.

I can't help but glance at her pink lips—almost the same shade as her pink bow was back in school. I could. I could just kiss her, right here, right now. Come what may—plant one right one her and hope for the best.

Just do it, Arnold! Just kiss her!

Instead, she manages to knee me in the leg hard enough that I let go of her and she steps back, maintaining an aggressive stance.

"Had enough, Pataki?" I ask, as we kind of step side-to-side trying to fake each other out.

"Never. I could go all night," she replies, narrowing her eyes again.

"I'll have to remember that," I flirt, adrenaline making me not care for once if I'm to bold.

She purses her lips, her narrowed eyes still on me as she moves her head back and forth in sassy way. But then her face drops into concern as she glances over my shoulder. "Oh, no, Arnold! I was supposed to be watching the boys! Where'd they go?"

"What?" I exclaim spinning around to look. But there they are happily munching on sandwiches by the stump. _Crap!_

In the next second I'm on the ground, face-first in the dirt as she tries to sit on me to hold me down after her successful tackle.

"You big cheater!" I exclaim, dumping her off my back, and rolling over. "Guess you haven't changed a bit."

"I'm not a cheater," she replies, trying to crawl away, kicking at me to keep me away. "You've just always been gullible as hell."

"Maybe I just wanted to let you think you had a chance," I reply, grabbing her legs and pulled her closer so I can pin them under my own legs. Just as I'm trying to figure out where to place my hands to hold her down and effectively win, a grin spreads across her face.

"Oh, honey, I've had a chance all along." With cat-like speed she reaches up and grabs my side, squeezing it in just a way so it tickles me.

"No, stop! Stop! Tickling is off limits!" I whine, pulling away and trying to protect myself.

"Says who? I don't remember any such agreement."

And with that she tickles me even more aggressively until she's sitting on my stomach and I'm flat on the ground doing nothing more than trying to grab her wrists so she'll stop tickling me.

"Do you give up?" she asks, her fingers working tickles deep in my sides effectively making me immobile.

"I would if I were you, Arnold," a deep voice laughs from above us. We both freeze and glance up to see Soren, standing above us and shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Arnold. What did I tell you?"

I groan and roll my eyes. Helga climbs off of my stomach and stands up, dusting herself off.

"It's not what it looks like, okay?" I state, trying to catch my breath. Who knew I was so ticklish?

"Uh-huh," Soren replies raising his eyebrows in skepticism.

"We were playing hide and seek and then—"

"So _that's_ what we're calling it now?"

"Aw, be quiet, smart guy. Go play hide and seek with your wife," Helga retorts.

"Pfft. Maybe I would if my babysitter would actually wa—"

"Can we play too, Dad?" Sawyer exclaims, causing Ramses to jump up in excitement too. "Arnold and Helga, come play with us! Helga's _really_ good at hiding."

"Maybe a little too good, if you know what I mean," Soren laughs, wriggling his eyebrows at us.

"You sure know how to beat a joke until it's dead and buried," I state, rising and wiping off the dirt on my face.

"Dead and buried with worms consuming its flesh," Helga adds, shaking her head.

"It's not dead and buried when it can still make you both turn that red in the face from embarrassment," Soren smirks, turning to face the boys.

I glance at Helga through the corner of my eye to see how she's reacting to all this. She's watching me, her cheeks bright red, but no other readable expression on her face. Then she walks over to stand next to me and her gaze immediately moves to the sky.

"It's so hot. Do you think we'll get some rain again? Or maybe even a few clouds?"

"Maybe." I shrug, finally able to look at her without feeling too humiliated. A smudge of dirt is still on her cheek. My instinct it to reach out and wipe it off, but that's the same instinct that got me in a wrestling match with her allowing Soren to mock us and make me feel embarrassed. Better to resist.

For now.

* * *

By about three, the heat and humidity are at an all-new level of unbearable. Tank tops and shorts are all that's left of our attire and, frankly, I know I'm not just speaking for myself when I say we're all wishing for more reprieve. Mostly just from the sticky moisture that seems to suffocate and adhere endlessly.

"It's so freaking hot," Soren growls before ripping off his shirt and tossing it angrily on the ground. The man's not known for his tolerance in the heat.

Helga whistles from beside me. "Damn, Tarzan's ripped. You done good, Sandy."

"Damn right," she replies, waving to Eduardo and her little ones as they drive off in the jeep.

"Remind me why Eduardo gets to drive the jeep instead of me?" Soren asks, folding his arms across his broad chest. I glance to see if Helga's staring at it. She's busy readjusting her backpack and bags. Phew.

"Because he's fifty and you're twenty-nine," I reply with a chuckle.

"Well, for the record, when I'm fifty I have dibs on driving the jeep when it's hotter than hell again."

I laugh, patting him on the back. "Deal."

We pack what wouldn't fit in the jeep onto our backs and in our hands and begin the trek up to the temple.

Sandy, Antoinette, and Richard manage to get a ways ahead of me and Helga pretty quickly. I don't mind at all. I'm enjoying the "alone" time with Helga as we take up the rear. We've finished a little bit of the official interviewing for her article.

"Welp, that's enough of that for now," she sighs, closing her notebook and putting it in the back pocket of her shorts. "So, tell me: what was your favorite part about being in Egypt?"

"When Sandy learned how to make Egyptian food."

"Wait, what?" She raises one of her eyebrows in confusion.

"Yah, I mean, if you ate Egyptian food in Cairo or something…it was… _okay_. But when Sandy started making it she kind of Americanized it and then it was really, really amazing."

"Hang on. Let me get this straight," she says, actually stopping and turning to face me. "So your favorite part of being in Egypt was _someone else's_ wife's cooking?"

I feel myself kind of grimace. Maybe I should have thought about her question more. I'm not the best at coming up with real answers when I'm put on the spot. "Well, when you put it _that_ way I—"

But Helga's chuckle cuts me off. "Nope. It's been said. It's been recorded. So let it be written, so let it be done."

I take a deep breath. "But here's the thing to remember, Helga. Digging in the dirt day after day, food becomes the high point. Plus, _everyone_ likes Sandy's cooking. I mean back in our college days, around the time we first had classes together, she used to bake cookies and stuff and bring them over to my place all the time."

"Everyone, huh?" she repeats thoughtfully. "Did she do this for _other_ people in college?"

"Uh…no," I reply thoughtfully trying to remember. "I think it was just my place she brought them to. I mean in the early days at least. We used to study together a lot and she'd always bring treats."

Helga gasps. "Oh. My. Gosh!"

"What? Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried that she is hurt or something. Maybe a scorpion stung her or a spider bit her. I hate spiders.

"Oh my gosh!" she exclaims again. "Sandy totally _liked_ you!"

I wrinkle my nose. "What?"

"Sandy had the hots for you in college!" She watches me closely as I just shake my head. "Think about it Arnold…she brought you—and no one else—well, until Soren I presume—baked goods all the time. She totally had a crush on the future Dr. Shortman."

"Whatever, Helga. Sandy just really likes to cook."

Does a girl bringing you baked goods mean she likes you? I don't know. Being romantically social was not my thing in college—and dating was even farther from being my thing. Sandy was the only person I talked to most of the time in college, but that doesn't mean—

"Oh, she totally did. And I'm gonna ask her," she replies, resuming her march up the hill.

I can feel myself scowling at the mere thought of all the uncomfortable conversations that could lead to if she was right. "Don't do that."

"I'll do what I want. She won't care. She'll tell me anything."

I groan again, then there's silence…but only for a second because Helga keeps talking.

"I think the funniest part of this whole 'Sandy was totally crushing on you in college' thing is that you had _no freaking clue_!" She bursts into giggles. "You, sir, are KING of clueless."

I scoff. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're clueless so how would you know, Mr. Tons-of-eligible-ladies-love-me-and-I-have-no-idea. Totally clueless for….well, for your entire existence, I'd say."

I'm starting to feel a little irritated. This conversation is supposed to be Helga and me flirting and getting to know each other and me just gazing at her beautiful face for a while. It's not supposed to be a long accusation of whether or not I'm clueless. "How do you know?"

"Oh, I _know_."

"Whatever."

"This is just more evidence of the string of heartbroken girls you've left by the wayside."

"Sandy's not heartbroken."

"Of course, not anymore. She's got super ripped, hottie Soren—how could you hope to compete anymore?"

"Oh, I could compete," I mumbled under my breath, as icy hot jealousy over Helga calling Soren a 'ripped hottie' runs through my veins.

She either doesn't hear me or chooses to ignore me. "I bet she was heartbroken at the time though. You totally blew her off! I can't get over this! The complete awkwardness of this knowledge I now possess…it's like great power!"

"Shut up. Can we go back to talking about what I liked about Egypt?" I practically beg. I'm suddenly feeling guilty for possibly breaking the heart of a friend whom I never even knew liked me.

She pauses in our walking to look at me. "Sure, but I'm not gonna forget this awesome wisdom, Heartbreaker." She flicks her eyebrows up in an impressed way.

"I'm not a heartbreaker."

"Oh, trust me, honey, you are." Her words drip with a meaning I can't quite place, nor do I even want to.

An awkward silence commences. I'm trying not to be annoyed by her teasing and also trying not to feel guilty about past sins I didn't even know I had committed. Not to mention that I'm going to feel super weird around Sandy and Soren from now on. Well, at least for a while.

Helga clears her throat jarring me from my thoughts. "So…Egypt?"

I laugh uneasily. "Oh, yah. You put me one the spot before."

Or distracted me with her good looks. I glance to the trees as we walk past them, trying to focus enough to give her an answer that doesn't involve 'somebody else's wife's cooking.'

"Well, there's a lot I liked about Egypt," I finally say. "One thing I really loved, though, was sailing down The Nile. It was relaxing and beautiful—so many ruins, landscapes, and things to see! It was one of my favorite things to do there." I finally look back at her and make eye contact again.

"Besides discovering ancient Egyptian mummies, I presume." She winks at me, sending pleasant shivers up my spine.

"Well, yah, besides that," I chuckle. "I thought we were talking local, modern stuff, not my job."

"We are. I'm teasing." She runs a hand down her arms to erase the beading moisture there. I doubt it can get any hotter out here than it already is. "Did you like living in the desert?"

"Well, it's hard to say, honestly. I mean I hated the high temperatures and the blowing dust, but the landscape was incredible. I mean by the river it's lush and green and almost tropical, but then you barely go two miles out and it's rolling desert. It's really crazy." Talking to Helga is really cathartic—as long as she isn't mocking me, flirting with me, or accusing me of being a heartbreaker. "I loved the people," I add. "Not in the city…but like the people outside the city, kind of in the middle of nowhere—the farmers."

"You have a thing for the Egyptian ladies?"

I shoot her a look. "What? No! Where did that come from?"

She's laughing now and the sound of it is just as beautiful as it is in my daydreams. "I just wanted to see you blush," she grins sheepishly.

My face decides to blush even deeper at her comment. I don't know if I should be elated or embarrassed.

She elbows me playfully. "I like it," she says as if to answer my question.

"Well, I like when you blush, too," I reply, and then my cheeks immediately flush even more at the forwardness of my comment. "I'm just not very good at making it happen."

"Maybe, Don Juan, I'm just really good at hiding it. You know, lots of practice. All part of my PhD in Football Head-onomics." She raises her eyebrows and smirks. "Lesson 569: how to hide blushes from charming football heads."

I stop walking and turn to look at her. She steps closer to me and grins. Gah, I love that grin. I can't decide what I'm more shocked about—how many so-called Football Head "lessons" there are or that she called me charming.

"You think I'm charming, huh?" I ask, loving the way her cheeks pink slightly. Her eyes meet mine, my heart hammering wildly in my chest, as the sapphire of her eyes seems all the more bright—reminding me of the wide open, clear blue skies of Egypt. "Score one for the football head," I whisper, watching as each puff of my breath causes the little hairs framing her face to dance.

She lets out a chuckle and steps back again, adjusting the strap of her backpack before starting up the hill again. She says something in another language and then turns to look over her shoulder, nodding at me to follow her. "Don't go getting too cocky now, Dr. Shortman. Lots of people are charming. Soren's charming."

Adjusting my own pack, I power-walk to catch up with her. "Sure, when he isn't climbing trees with monkeys or talking conspiracy theories about giants."

"And Richard's charming."

I almost stop walking again, but I'm on point enough to catch myself first. Richard. She has a thing for Richard. She must! The way she just said it and left it at that. She would think he's charming with his stupid secret flower gifts. I clench my teeth in frustration.

All the more reason I'm angry at myself for falling for the woman. I knew it was too good to be true. Everyone always leaves…it's never me that anyone chooses. In the end, I'm always, irrevocably alone. I'm crazy to think she'd ever go for me. A guy who's too much of an emotional wreck to ever flirt with her or be the first one to think to give her flowers. A guy who spent the past seven years absorbed in getting his degree and then in his career. A guy who has crazy hallucinations that any normal woman would run screaming from.

Helga clears her throat. "So I take it you don't think Richard's charming? _He_ must be the one leaving flowers for me. That's charming. I mean, you _did_ say it wasn't you leaving them, right?"

I still don't respond and clench my jaw even tighter. I feel her eyes on me and an irritated fist forms in my hand.

 _Through the trees, he can be seen stopping in his tracks again, but this time he doesn't look at the woman next to him. He only stares forward in a trivial daze, the breeze moving the blonde tufts of his hair. His hand relaxes and he drops the bag he is holding. The thud of it faintly echoes off the trees._

 _The woman notices he's no longer with her and turns back to him, speaking his name over and over again. She's getting more and more agitated by the moment, until finally she grabs his shoulders and shakes him softly. What is he staring at?_

"Arnold, are you okay? What's wrong with you?"

The bright sun shining in my eyes makes me blink in shock for a second. Then Helga's terrified face comes into view and I realize she's really close to me with a hand grasping each of my shoulders.

"Huh? Helga, what are you doing?" I try to swallow away the strange out-of-body experience I just had. It was as if I was only a few yards away amongst the trees. I glance over my shoulder, searching the trees for any movement or dark shadows.

Helga's hand touches my face and pulls it, forcing me to look at her again. She holds my face in her hands and searches my eyes with a puzzled look on her face. "You did it again."

"Did what?" I ask, trying to look over my shoulder again as a strange prickling works its way up my spine.

She pulls me back to look at her. I try to ignore the tingling warmth her touch sends through me.

"You went into one of your trances or whatever. _Crimeny_ , Arnold! You're starting to scare me!"

"What trances? Sometimes I just like to enjoy the scenery and stuff." I give her the most convincing smile I can (which I'm sure isn't very convincing because the look on her face is pretty unimpressed.)

She drops her hands and folds her arms. Her eyes narrow in annoyance. "Look, Costanza, I've got a minor in Psychology—"

"You minored in psychology?" I ask, totally surprised by this newly learned Helga tidbit.

"Okay, not really, but I saw a shrink for a few years so I'm basically an expert. You, sir, for some reason, are trying to avoid telling me the truth about what's going on." Her lips are pursed in aggravation and her eyebrow is cocked higher than I've ever seen before.

I'm not really sure how I'm going to get out of this. But I know if I tell her anything…well, there goes my already slim chances of winning her heart and keeping it. I'll look like a _madman_! Hell, I don't even know what's going on! All I know is I keep having the really, frighteningly realistic dreams—where I'm seeing through someone else's eyes. And they all seem so real…almost like I'm actually the one seeing it all happen—as if I'm _there_.

She's still staring at me, watching me closely and waiting for my answer. But, I can't tell her the truth.

"I just have a serious problem with daydreaming," I reply finally with a small shrug before picking up my bag and heading toward the temple again.

"You know," she begins, the tone in her voice getting a sharp edge to it as her long legs work to catch up, "I might have bought that a few days ago, but not anymore." She massages her temples for a moment before looking back at me. "If you think I'm going to go off la-dee-daing while you keep freaking out on me, you're wrong. What is going on? I demand you tell me _right now_." I can see her fists shaking at how tight they're clenching at her sides.

"And what if I don't? Is Ol' Betsy and The Five Avengers going to reappear and _pound_ me?" I snort, with a dismissive wave of my hand.

"Arnold, this isn't a joke and you know it!" She points her finger at me in a frustrated manner, making me stop in my tracks. "I can tell something's not right with you. I don't know what it is, but I know it's more than ' _daydreams'_. I mean you dropped _everything_ you were carrying and stared off…almost like you're brain had just shut off…or like you were somewhere else entirely."

"It's so hot, Helga. My hands were a little sweaty and I thought I saw a cheetah so I lost my grip."

"Nope, not buying it," she says with a minute shake of her head. "You were looking off in the direction everyone else is. And maybe I'm crazy, but I think if there was a cheetah over there we would have heard some kind of commotion."

"Have I mentioned I have arthritis?" I'm babbling now, just hoping she'll drop it. I start marching up the hill, and she scrambles to catch up again.

"You're twenty-seven years old. It's not arthritis."

"Well, it's never been diagnosed; it could also be carpal tunnel from the kind of work we do here. But don't tell the others, they'll doubt my leadership ability."

"Arnold, just stop!" she exclaims, dropping her bags and grabbing my shoulders, forcing me to face her once more. "Open up to me. _Please_. I thought we were friends." Her voice cracks a bit during the last sentence, which pulls my attention to her.

I open my mouth to respond but the look on her face suddenly stops me. Her brows are furrowed and her eyes seem wide and sad as she bites her lip. Is that moisture in her eyes?

"Why won't you tell me?" she asks, the blue of her eyes searching mine desperately. "Don't you trust me?"

I stare back into her eyes—all this turmoil swelling around inside me. I _want_ to tell her. I do. To confide in her, to show her I trust her—finally have someone who knows about what I've been seeing—what I'm going through. But I can't. She'll leave. She'll desert me. She'll realize I'm crazy, a nut-job, nobody worth being with. If I have any chance at all, I have to keep it to myself.

 _But…_

What if I _am_ crazy? What if deep down inside, I've _always_ been crazy and weird. What if that's why everyone always leaves me? Always. Just a strange guy with strange ideas that nobody else understands.

She takes in a tense breath, her nostrils flaring slightly as she pushes me slightly before stepping back. "So, here we are again. It's the wedding all over again, isn't it?"

I blink and twitch my head slightly in confusion. "Wedding? What wedding?"

" _What wedding_?" she shouts, her arms flinging out wildly. "Are you serious right now? _The_ wedding, Football Head. _The wedding._ " She grimaces at my obvious confusion. "You know, the last time we saw each other?"

"Are you talking about Gerald and Phoebe's wedding?" I ask, the memory coming back to me suddenly.

She rolls her eyes in anger. "Was there another wedding we attended together during which you IGNORED me the entire time?" she huffs.

I blow out a noisy breath. "I didn't ignore you."

"Yah, sure," she scoffs. "You didn't literally RUN to the other side of the ballroom every time you saw me coming."

"What are you talking about?" I exclaim, trying to appear innocent, even though I remember full well that I really _did_ try to avoid her that entire night. I was afraid it would just be too awkward. "I was the best man, you were the maid of honor, and I was there with you the _entire_ time."

"Oh, you mean when you didn't say one single word to me?" Her cheeks are a fiery red, and I'm not sure if it's a sunburn or frustration with me. All I know is I'm not scoring any points here. But there's no way I'm going to admit that I was actively avoiding her at the wedding.

I wrinkle my brow in frustration. "When was I supposed to? There were pictures and people we had to greet, not to mention how tacky would it have been if I talked to you while we were marching down the aisle."

"Hello? Reception? Plenty of non-duty related time to talk—or hell!—dance even!" she exclaims throwing her arms out. "But no. _No_. Remember the dance where all the bridal party was supposed to slow dance with the bride and groom?"

I open my mouth to speak but she cuts me off.

"Of course, you don't! You were conveniently missing, so I had to dance with Brainy."

"What's wrong with Brainy? He's a nice guy."

"The guy had to stop _literally_ every damn minute to breathe with his inhaler. And don't you change the subject, buddy…where _did_ you disappear to?" she asks, pushing at my shoulder slightly with her hand.

I kind of feel nauseated because she's totally correct. I did purposely miss that dance so I wouldn't have to dance with her. I mean, it's not because I didn't like her. She was fun and entertaining, but after what happened on graduation day, I was afraid she liked me more than I liked her—more than a friend—and I wasn't feeling that way about her…you know, not then, at least. So now I can't help but panic…I don't want her to know I was hiding in the men's room waiting for that blasted dance to be over so I could go back in. I wouldn't want that knowledge to hurt her feelings. I kind of hoped she never really noticed.

Obviously I was _very_ wrong.

Her finger jabbed into my chest, pulling me back to the present. "Ah-ha! I knew you were avoiding me!"

"No, I wasn't," I reply, still panicked and not quite thinking straight. "Maybe you were just too busy obsessing over me so you read every one of my actions wrong—"

The angry, wounded look on her face—not to mention the tense breathing she's doing—informs me I've gone too far.

"Oh, so we're gonna go there, huh?" she asks, glaring at me as she slides the backpack straps off her shoulders and lets it fall to the ground with a loud thud. "Fine. Yes, as I admitted at dinner the first night here, I had a crush on you when we were _nine_ — _nine!_ And you know, if you want full disclosure, maybe a tiny bit again in middle school, but I didn't have a thing for you at the wedding or any time since!" I cringe at that revelation and my heart aches inside.

"Okay, but what about on graduation day?" I ask, slipping my hand into the pocket of my pants and stepping back from the seething anger on her face.

She opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it just as quickly. Heaving a big sigh, she steps away from me with her palms toward me. "You know what? I'm too old for this. I shouldn't have to defend my actions to you or anyone else."

With that she picks up the backpack and flings it vehemently over her shoulder before marching off ahead of me.

Well, looks like I screwed up any chance I had with her without even telling her I'm a walking, hallucinating, crazy person. Granted, maybe I never had a chance anyway. She did say she doesn't have feelings for me, didn't she?

I wish it was just easy to say, "Okay, well that's that" and move on. But I've fallen and I've fallen hard. As much as I want to run away and protect myself from the possibilities of desertion and heartache…I'm not sure I'm going to be able to.

And why the hell do I always feel so much hotter after talking to her? I know she's attractive and it makes me panic, but really? Like I need to feel even hotter than this horribly sweltering day already has been.

* * *

We spent the next day setting up the site. Helga noticeably avoids me, still mad about our argument the evening before. I've thought about approaching her since and trying to apologize to her, but I keep chickening out. Plus, stupid Richard keeps leaving her flowers, while simultaneously flirting with Antoinette so I don't know what the hell is going on.

I throw the papers I was studying down onto my desk and lean back in my chair. Why am I such a jinx when it comes to romance? Is it just because in the past when I _did_ allow myself to pursue people it was always the wrong person. Ruth McDougal. Lila Sawyer. Gloria Morris.

And then when I wanted nothing more than to avoid relationships…I missed the right ones? And now I'm back to falling for the wrong girl. Is that it? So I'm just going to forever remain this fearful, pathetic, lonely man with a lonely job—always in some freaking swelteringly hot climate?

I rip off my hat and fling it against a tree. It keeps the sun's heat off but creates a moist, sweaty, suffocating warmth of its own. Is it even doing any good? I think the rest of the team probably feels the same. It's really too hot to work on the temple, so everyone's just lying around trying to stay cool in the shade of the trees.

"Richard…are you sure that running around barefoot is a good idea out here? Aren't you afraid you'll get bit by a snake or a spider?" Antoinette asks wrapping her dark hair up into a colorful scarf.

"Your mamma's not a good idea," Richard replies, falling onto the ground in a heap of exhaustion.

Antoinette shoots him a languid thumbs up. "Really good one, Richard."

"His usual _wit_ seems to be lacking when it's hot," Sandy comments from where she's leaning against the tree next to me. Her hair is pulled up in a bun as high on her head as she can get it. She fans her loose white tank top in an attempt to cool herself, but it seems to do little help. Her face is flushed a bright pink, and her shoulders are slumped. Soren, shirtless again, tries to cuddle next to her. "Ugh, Soren it's so hot! Why would you wanna cuddle?" she whines, pushing him away.

"I want some of your coldness," he replies, trying to cozy up to her again.

"What coldness? I'm so freaking hot!" She kicks off her shoes, and stretches her legs out in front of her.

Sawyer and Ramses suddenly run by in nothing but their superhero underwear, yipping and hollering with glee as they squirt each other with squirt guns, jumping over their mom's legs and stepping on Richard's belly in their attempt to get past them. I'm just thankful that I'm far enough away from all the hullabaloo.

"Those are your half-naked children," Sandy comments, closing her eyes and leaning back against the tree. "Since the apple doesn't fall far from the tree you should probably go take care of them."

"It's too hot to move…they're fine. Nobody cares, right, guys?" Soren asks with a tired wave toward the rest of us.

"I'm too tired to care about _anything_ ," Antoinette replies with a fatigued sigh. "How is it that you can feel exhausted from the heat even if you aren't doing anything?" Good one, Antoinette. Surely the question of the Ages.

"People! People! I have an announcement!" Helga calls, bounding into our shaded area with way too much enthusiasm for how hot it is. Her short shorts and cropped tank top only seem to emphasize her toned body and healthy glow of her tan. Her wind-blown blonde locks are thrown up into a clip, little wisps framing her face. Ugh, I _really_ need to stop letting my eyes linger over her form.

"Sure, Helga. We'll all just drop whatever we're doing for you announcement. It's not like our lives are important or anything," Soren comments from his rather napping-like position on the ground.

Helga glances at him and appraises his lazy posture. "Obviously, they aren't right now. I have to go into town for a week—well, probably longer—to print some pictures and type up some stuff and mail it to my boss. I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"Thanks for the big headline, Helga," Soren replies before lying back down in a half-naked heap.

Helga rolls her eyes and heads back over to her tent and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. What if she's only leaving because she's mad at me? What if she decides to give up the article and never come back? What if that's the end of any slim chance I ever had with her?

Or even if she _does_ come back—a week without her—can I take it? Somehow she's become such a part of my life that imagining even a week without her is freaking me out. My career—my job—something that was once so much of my focus has literally become so low on my priority list that I can't even imagine going back to that life. A life of career driven obsession. A life without Helga's smile—without her sense of humor—without our shared love for cultures and laughter. A life without her ever annoying and ever endearing teasing.

Without even pausing to think through what I'm going to say, I bolt out of my chair toward her tent. Fate would have it that she is coming out just as I'm leaning down to call inside and we bonk heads rather roughly.

She groans and leans back against the tent holding her head. "Geez, Football Head, ya might wanna watch where you're going next time."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything," I burst out, hoping at the very least an apology will entice her to come back after she goes into town to finish the article.

A smirk plays on her lips. "Aw. What? You decide to apologize in case you never see me again?" she asks, with a playful punch to my shoulder. "Gettin' all emotional about my leaving?"

"No," I reply, biting my lip. "I just wanted to say you were right. I was a jerk at the wedding and I _was_ avoiding you. I was immature and acting stupid because of graduation day even though that was years before," I confess, only feeling more and more stupid the longer I talk. I reach into my pocket nervously.

An expression I can't place washes across her face a second, but then she smiles softly. "And I apologize for trying to force you into telling me something that you didn't want to. It's kind of weird for me to assume we're friends suddenly after years of separation and after all our…unusual history together." She steps closer looking me in the eye as continues smiling at me. "It's kind of a sudden thing, and to expect you to trust me—"

"It's not that I don't trust you, Helga," I reply, desperately hoping to mend the bridge, pleading with my eyes. "It's just…I don't really even know—"

"It's okay, Arnold," she reassures, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. She slides it down my arm and squeezes my hand briefly before letting go. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

My brain goes all fuzzy and tingly from the sensation of her touch. I just need to touch her—to feel her skin on my fingertips. Reaching out and I place my hand on her soft cheek—running my thumb back and forth slightly. "I should have danced with you."

I hear her soft intake of breath and look up to meet her eyes—their blue still as bright as day even in the dim light of a respite lone cloud.

She moves her body closer, only a few inches away and tentatively reaches forward with her own hand touching my own cheek. For a split second I want nothing more than to kiss her—but then an impish smile sneaks across her face. Her hand slides up and grabs my ear roughly, pulling on it slightly. "Well, you couldn't have kept up with me anyway."

I jump at the unexpected pain as she smirks at me before sliding her hand away, flicking my nose in the process. With that she glides away from me, her long, tan legs smooth lines against the jungle foliage, her ponytail swaying with each step.

Oh, man. I'm so screwed. She's beautiful, sexy, intelligent, funny, feisty, and the right kind of mean…and I love it all. I don't have a chance in the world of surviving this.

* * *

 _With each slap of a branch or leaf against my arms and chest, the anger inside me intensifies. The darkness of the night doesn't bother me even though only brief flashes of moonlight are visible through the thick canopy above me. Darkness seems fitting for what I am about to do. The ground beneath my beaded sandals sinks into the moist ground with each step. The air feels thick on my tongue and even for all the endless moisture in the air, I'm thirsty. Licking my lips, I taste the salty sweat beading there and realize there's sweat pooling on my back as well. Again, this only fuels my anger—and with it my hatred._

 _Pausing in my hunt, I listen, trying to reign in my heavy breathing so it's not the only sound I hear pounding in my ears. Clenching my hand tightly I flex the muscles there, trying to relax, but only feeling more tense by the second. The whispers and calls of night animals float through the forest, but I listen deeper—past my breathing, past the animals, past the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze._

 _Then I hear it. The sound of panic…the sound of escape. The sound I am looking for. The sound I will find. The sound I will soon end._

 _Anger seethes through my body and I clench my teeth, catching my haggard breath before continuing through the forest. It's a feeling I've felt for so long now—consuming every moment of my day. A feeling I still can't seem to process. But it's stronger than ever now and it's mingled with the bitter taste of hatred._

 _Pulling out my sword, I forge through the forest once more, this time slashing through bamboo and vines and moving through the jungle much faster than before. Wet leaves and vines slide against my skin as I march through the foliage. There's a pounding in my ears drowning out the noise I'm making—giving me a sort of tunnel vision._

 _The hatred boils just under the surface of my skin—heating up my entire being, pushing adrenaline into my brain. I slice my sword through the air in a violent motion, the decision to end the life of he who has wronged me already decided. Ready to end the life of the one who took everything I had ever worked for, everything I had ever wanted. The one who had stolen my whole purpose in life from me._

 _Stepping into a clearing I realize the forest has suddenly grown eerily quiet. The thrashing sounds of escape have disappeared. Only silence surrounds me. There isn't even the sound of night prowlers or the wind in the trees. Stepping slowly around the edges of the clearing, I listen intently…for anything…any sound that might tell me where they are hiding. I'm a great hunter and warrior. I've tracked many animals, traitors, criminals, and enemies for our people. This is no different. None have yet escaped me, and none shall. I will not rest until I've righted what has been wronged. I will end this feeling of betrayal that shadows my heart._

 _A stick snaps to my left and I whirl around, sword at the ready. A young man trips out of a large fern and sprawls at my feet._

" _Thee!" I spew through clenched teeth._

 _In panic, he looks up at me, those deep green eyes so wide in their terror. I raise my sword to strike._

" _Please, please," he begs, those green eyes so piercing and soulful. "Please…_ Brother. _"_

 _I stiffen slightly, my chest rising and falling heavily with each enraged breath. I stare at him, unblinking—all the treachery from the past few years seems to fly through my mind. "Brother". He says the word as if it has meaning—as if it's more than just a lie. As if he hadn't betrayed our lifelong connection and friendship. No_ brother _would steal what was rightfully mine._

" _Doesn't thou know it is not my choice? I never wanted this. I only wanted it for thee. Thou must know that!" he cries, holding up his arms in supplication._

 _I stare down my nose at him, clenching my hands tightly around the grip of my sword. "Thou must have made a deal with the gods. It's the only explanation. Thou went behind my back—stole my birthright and then betrayed me."_

" _I did not. I swear it!" he exclaims, hands over his heart. "Thou knowest as well as I that it is not always the eldest. There have been many times—"_

" _Do not speak to me of the past. All that matters is what thou did now! I am nothing now! I have no purpose!" I shout, my voice thundering in the silence of the jungle. "I was raised for greatness—raised for destiny and thou stole it from me!"_

" _Brother! I did not. Thou art still king," he declares, attempting to stand, but I point my sword at his throat. Tears stream down his face, but he continues to speak. "That is still a purpose. Our people need thee—they need their king. And thou knowest if thou kills me, that won't change anything."_

 _I shake my head in frustration. "It might! I might then get the full rights I deserve."_

" _Thou doesn't know that. Remember our god ancestors—Netur-Wahje's siblings; do not follow in their footsteps…"_

 _The anger in my heart softens only for a moment, but still the hatred wins out. "Their fate came because they did not face what was coming to them! They did not accept their imminent death and instead ran—leaving everything they once had behind. So thou shall not have their final fate, thou shall have their original destiny," I shout, a sensation of increased strength and fire coursing through my veins as I slice my sword down through the air. A woman's screams pierces the night behind me, as my brother's life is extinguished._

With a jolt, I'm wide-awake, sitting up in bed, my throat dry and parched, an aching pounding behind my eyes. My breath comes out in ragged wheezing. My heart races wildly, the sound thrashing in my ears, pain in my chest from its hammering.

My eyes dart around frantically, trying to gain sense of where I am—of who I am. A tent, a cot, the darkness of a rainforest cloaked in night outside a tent flap. With a shaky hand, I reach to feel my arms, my chest, my face—my football-shaped head. The same head I've always had. Arnold. _I'm Arnold._

Blinking, I swallow back the scream that has been in my throat since I woke up. It was been such a clear, vivid dream—every emotion raging and powerful, every brush of the wind on my face, every word spoken—it had all seemed so real, as if I was actually _there_. As if I wasn't just there…as if it was actually _me_ who—

I shut my eyes tightly and swallow my mouth still dry and painful. Water. I need a drink.

Reaching down next to my bed, I grab my pants and quickly slip them on as I stand up, crying out suddenly at a loud noise outside at the entrance of my tent.

"Arnold!" Helga exclaims, bursting into my tent, looking a little bit off-balance and wild as she catches herself and steadies her lantern before almost tripping over my suitcase. "Are you okay?"

I stare at her in shock turning my own lantern on to see her better, trying to ignore the way the light flickers from the trembling of my hand. "Wha-what are you doing in here?" The words sound like more of a croak than an actual voice so I grab my water jug and take a quick drink, trying to calm myself at the same time. Rattled is an understatement. There's a paralyzing fear racing through me like icy hot liquid burning in my veins.

Helga balances herself dizzily against a tent pole, making the whole tent shake for a second. Apparently she doesn't get coherent fast when she wakes up. "You cried out! And I was worried something was wrong."

"It was a…dream," I mumble, adrenaline still pumping through me, sweat gathering profusely on my brow; a foreboding sensation in the back of my mind and an inability to shake it. Her presence aids as a distraction, but I'm still flustered and overwhelmed and more frightened of these visions than I ever was before.

"Right. A _dream_." She saunters over and flounces onto my cot, stretching her long legs out in front of her. "Look, buddy, I know you daydream…but a grown man waking up screaming in the middle of a night is _not_ normal." She folds her arms behind her head and lays back, looking just as cozy as a person can on a cot in the middle of a jungle. "I won't force you to tell me anything but I'm gonna stay here with you." Her casual manner serves to soothe me just a bit. "Because if I was having bizarre daydreams—or whatever you are having—well, I wouldn't want to be alone." She pats the spot next to her. "Have a seat. Like I said, I'm not going anywhere."

Closing my eyes and taking a few deep, relaxing breaths I sit down next to her. The warmth of her side radiates onto my back and I shiver slightly. With a small half-turn I look at her from over my shoulder, trying to drink in everything about her—the bright spot in an increasingly frightening world. Her feathery eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she closes her fatigued eyes for a moment. Waves of blonde cascade down from a messy bun, rumpled from sleep. With only a cropped t-shirt and short PJ shorts on, her long limbs emit a warm, tan glow in the lamplight.

I'm so freaking tired. No, more than that. I'm _exhausted_. I'm so sick of seeing these weird things and having no one to talk to about them. I'm tired of being alone in this. And here's this amazing woman lying in my bed, ready to listen. Why am I avoiding it? She's here for me. She's offered to listen. She's given me the olive branch of friendship multiple times. Whether or not there's more in her feelings for me, I don't know, but at the very least she's a friend. A friend who isn't a co-worker, who doesn't need to see me the same way the others do.

I lick my lips, my chest tightening from anxiety. "It's happened before," I say, barely more than a whisper. "But never like this."

She glances up at me, her blue eyes soft and glittery, the lamplight reflects off them like lapis lazuli beads on an Egyptian queen's necklace. She slowly rolls to her side and props her head onto her hand. With her other hand she reaches out and grabs my hand—the one that's closest to her—and squeezes it reassuringly, but doesn't say anything.

I close my eyes, remembering. "I've always been a daydreamer. I mean, you know that." I glance back down at her, and she nods softly, giving me the slightest smile before squeezing my hand again. "It was distracting as a kid…the way I'd get caught up in my imagination. And I don't know if it was the same thing then or if at some point something happened and it became…something different." I run a restless hand through my hair, the pressure in my chest making it slightly hard to breathe. "All I know is it's definitely increased over the years and become more…specific—more detailed. In college I'd find myself having these daydreams of the jungles of San Lorenzo. Just regular stuff that any person could imagine about a jungle. I didn't think it was anything more than just wishing to see the place my parents had gone—the place where I was born."

She sits up carefully, scooting closer to me and folding her legs under her. I can feel her eyes on me as well as the heat of her body closer to me, but I continue looking straight ahead at the blank canvas wall of the tent.

I swallow a dry lump in my throat before continuing. "But then a couple times during some of my college classes where we handled artifacts…I'd get these little wisps of daydreams—well, at least that's what I thought they were. I never questioned it then…but now…now I'm not so sure that's all they were."

I glance at her, seeing her watching me intently, her brows creased slightly. She pulls on my hand, leading me to sit across from her on the cot. When I do, she doesn't let go of my hand, but instead covers it with her other hand, cocooning it safely in her grasp.

"Go on," she says, so tenderly that it floods me with warmth and just enough confidence to keep talking.

"I remember once touching a ring—a simple scarab ring made out of lapis and gold. And I saw this view of Thebes in my mind." I close my eyes remembering it just as detailed as I had then. "It was as if I was in a high building looking out across the city during the high of Egyptian civilization. It seemed so beautiful—so real. The sun glinting off white-washed buildings made of mud brick. Throngs of people moving through the streets. I could hear their voices floating up to me from below. The lush beauty of The Nile bordered everything." I turn to her, a resurgence of my excitement at the view filling my heart. "It was beautiful and so detailed! Like nothing I'd ever seen in real life." I shrug lamely then. "I just thought I had a good imagination."

"But you don't think that now?" she asks, her voice so calm and serene I'm a little surprised it's coming from Helga Pataki.

I shake my head gently. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore. I just know that it kept happening to me. Little glimpses into lives of people of the past. Sandy started noticing it and teasing me about it. Then once we started our dig in Egypt, everyone did. It became a joke. But at that point it got more distracting…more overwhelming. I wasn't only seeing things, I was feeling them…physically. Like the smoothness of a plank of wood under my hand, or the rough bark of a tree brushing against my arm, or the placid breeze on my face. But that wasn't all."

Our eyes meet, hers searching mine intensely. "What changed?"

"Then after we found the mummies…one night I went down there into one of the tombs—"

Helga gasps next to me. "Wait a minute! You went to a mummy's tomb at night. Geez, Arnold, you're a bold man."

I shrug. "Well, yah, I wanted to see that necklace I told you about a few days ago. And I reached out and touched it…and I saw this whole scene as if I was the princess Neferubity—"

"The mummy?" she asks, seeming even more interested than before.

"Well, yes, but before she was a mummy. When she was a girl. When she was…telling her brother, Wadjmose, goodbye before he ran for his life…and ended up here. And I saw it through her eyes." I shiver at the memory, the emotions from that vision still near the surface. "I actually felt what she felt. And that time…I felt every emotion she felt—so much so that when Antoinette found me, I had been crying just as Neferubity had been. At the time I just thought it was because I knew their story and had read the inscriptions on the wall. But it was so detailed—with things that were _not_ written on the walls. And now…now I think it's more than just and over-active imagination."

"And at the temple…what did you see?" Her blue eyes are intent on me, never leaving my face.

"I saw a ritual through the eyes of that priestess…of them locking the door…of them talking about The One Hidden in Shadow."

"That's how you knew her name—the high priestess." She places her hand on my shoulder. "You _saw_ it all. You didn't read it."

I pause as a wave of understanding washes over me like splash of cold water. A frightening realization that something beyond my control is going on here. That I'm just a tiny piece of a bigger game.

"Helga," I whisper, afraid to say the words out loud, but needing to say it all the same. "I think it's real. I think it's what really happened."

I breathe slowly, trying to dispel the pain in my chest, the fear in my mind, the utter terror flowing through me. Helga looks away for a minute thoughtfully, before turning back and looking me in the eye again.

"I believe you, Arnold. I think it's real too."

A surge of relief floods me and I feel—for just a second—like I could smile. But then the greatness and severity of what I just accepted washes over me again. "It's real. But I don't know what it means…or why it's happening. The thought of reincarnation keeps popping in my mind…but it's not always the same viewpoint. And tonight, oh man, tonight's was so horrible…evil…I hope it's not reincarnation. I hope I didn't do that…horrendous, abhorrent thing."

"What thing?" she asked, a worried crease on her brow, her hand still holding mine.

So I tell her, I tell her all about the dream. Of the man—so full of hate for a past grievance that he killed his own brother out of vengeance. And how I felt it all—experienced it all—as if it had been me who had done it. Me who had killed my own brother.

After I've finished, I look into her eyes and see a tear working its way delicately down her cheek. A sad, reassuring smile fills her face though as she takes both my hands in hers again and holds them close to her. "Arnold, it's going to be okay. We're going to figure this out. I promise."

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"You aren't crazy," she says, squeezing my hands, her eyes wide and sad. "I don't think these are simple daydreams either. It's why I've been trying to get you to confide in me. I knew something wasn't right."

I choke, the fear still surging through me. "You don't think I'm a…murderer?"

"Of course not. I know you. Believe it or not, I know…your very soul." Her blue eyes smolder, emotion filling them. "You're the most virtuous person I've ever known. You'd never do something like this. _Never_. Not in this life and not in any other life. Whatever it is—whoever it is—it's not you."

With a sharp intake of breath I lean forward, her arms immediately encircling me and pulling me close. It's a simple enough gesture—a comforting hug from a friend. I wrap my arms around her waist and bury my face in her neck breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. The feel of her so close to me soothes me more than I'd have ever guessed. Despite the heaviness within me—the fear and pain fluttering at the surface—I feel the brightness of hope again and the ache of the loneliness of being the only one who knew of my visions takes flight. Within her arms—whatever these visions mean—it seems a little less bleak. And for a moment as she comforts me, lets me feel safe—all the pain and fear leaves me and for that moment, I'm going to be okay. I'm not alone.

"I'm going to help you get to the bottom of it. Okay?" I feel her breath on my ear as goose bumps erupt down my neck and arms as I feel the tickling puff of each breath.

I nod, breathing in her vanilla-berry scent once more and pull my hands away, but remain close to her still. Her hands still on my shoulders move slightly and then she runs her hand down my chest. "I gotta ask…do you always sleep shirtless?"

I choke slightly and my mouth drops open in shock. "Well, yah," I reply, trying not to let on how much her touch affects me. "It's too damn hot out here not to."

She smiles impishly. "Well, we know one thing. You're right," she grins, running her hand down my arm slowly before giving me a friendly punch there. "You could _totally_ take Soren."

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face or the delighted chuckle that escapes my mouth. My chest tightens at her closeness as she smiles into my face, her nose still noticeably close to mine.

"Helga," I whisper, my voice husky from the intensity inside me and the strength it's taking me just to hold myself back from reaching out and kissing her. My eyes drop to her lips at the thought, and I moisten my own with my tongue.

She's on her feet in an instant, standing above me, one hand clasping the opposite arm as she smiles at me—the hint of something more glimmering in her eyes. "I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted. But I think you'll be okay now. And when I get back next week we can start figuring this thing out." She backs away, and then turns around to head to the tent's door.

"Thank you, Helga," I say quietly, wishing more than anything I could convince her to stay with me…to wrap me in her arms again. Trying to ignore the fact that the girl I just spilt my guts to is leaving for a whole week…maybe longer.

"Of course," she smiles leaning forward and tweaking my nose. "I've always had your back, Football Head." Her hand drops to my chest once more as she runs it quickly over my bare chest again. "Damn. You could take on at least _four_ Sorens."

With that she steps gracefully to the tent door, turns around, and looks at me, a teasing gleam to her blue eyes, the lantern light dancing in them. "Goodnight, Dr. Shortman," she says with a soft chuckle.

Her voice is barely a whisper, like an angel, as she slips back out the tent. The gentle brushing of canvas at the entrance is soothing enough to coax me into sleep, with nothing but dreams of blonde hair, glittering blue eyes, and warm hands in mine.


	13. Overwhelming Darkness

A/N:

Hey, guys, just a little note to tell you that everything in this story is purposeful and very planned out. Arnold may seem OOC, the OCs might seem pointless, or you may have tons of unanswered questions, but we've got a long way to go yet. Everything is intentional. Just trust me.

* * *

Chapter 12:

Just when I think it can't possibly get any worse or any more miserable, something has to prove me wrong. And in this case…it's the weather. Gray skies hover over the jungle casting a grayish hue around us. Mud is everywhere. _Everywhere._

Not too bad, you'd think, right? But consider this: the rain doesn't even bring reprieve from the clingy moisture of humidity. In fact, it makes it worse instead. Now, because of the rain, we have to wear jeans and jackets. The extra clothing just sticks to me like a gooey slug on a rock, which just makes me feel increasingly tenser and more stressed out. Even the refreshing smell of the clean air and damp earth does little to make me feel better.

Thanks, Mother Nature. You're a real peach.

I think I liked Egypt better. At least 99/100 days you could expect sun and _dry_ heat. This wet, unpredictable jungle crap is something else. It's not for me. Who wants to feel like they just stepped out of the shower _all the time_?

But, for the moment, at least, the rain is staying up in those dark, looming clouds. And we're under semi-decent coverage in the temple ruins. Everyone's quietly eating, tired from a long morning of hard work, but as usual, Soren can't let that happen for long.

"What are Mr. America's abilities?" Soren asks, tapping me on the shoulder to get my attention.

I squint at him in confusion. "Who?"

"Mr. America. What are his abilities?" he repeats, rolling his eyes like I'm some kind of an idiot.

"Do you mean _Captain_ America?" I reply, squinting in confusion at him.

"Yah, sure, whatever. What are Captain America's abilities? I mean what's so great about the guy? So he has a shield—big whoop," he says with an unimpressed grimace.

"Well, he basically becomes a super soldier—amplified strength and speed—that kind of thing," Antoinette explains before taking a bit of her sandwich.

"So again, I ask you…what's so great about the guy?"

"You mean besides the fact that he's the _zenith_ of natural human potential?" Richard exclaims in exasperation, and rolls his eyes in disgust that someone would blunder so badly when it came to superhero trivia. The look in his eyes reveals he's barely restraining the urge to strangle Soren.

"I could take him," Soren retorts, flexing his biceps and crossing his arms across his broad chest.

I don't know what it is about this conversation, but I only find it asininely annoying. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the fact that the girl I love is miles away from me at the moment.

"I _highly_ doubt that!" Richard scoffs, glaring at Soren, that dangerous look still in his eyes.

"I totally could," Soren repeats, moving to stand over Richard intimidatingly. "Go ahead, ask Sandy."

"Whatever you put your mind to, you can do, babe," Sandy replies, not even looking up from the book she's reading.

Soren smiles proudly and looks back at Richard. "See?"

"I think she was being sarcastic," I state, hoping to put an end to this ridiculousness.

"Whatever," Soren replies casually.

"This explains how your marriage works," Richard mocks with an irritated eye-roll.

"You're just jealous." Soren waves Richard off before sitting back down next to Sandy and grabbing his lunch again.

"Of Captain America maybe, not you," Richard sneers.

Soren ignores him and reaches into Sandy's bag, pulling out a candy bar.

"Hey! Where'd you get that?" Antoinette whines, gazing longingly at it. Sandy _always_ has chocolate, I'm not sure why Antoinette is surprised. Seriously, what's up with them today?

"From Sandy's lunch," Soren states, obviously missing her true meaning.

"No, how or when?"

"Oh, when I was in town dropping Helga off I bought some," he explains before taking another bite. "Speaking of which, there was kind of a lot of drama going on."

"What do you mean? Between you and Helga?" I ask, slightly perturbed.

"Well, yah, now that you mention it, there was that too," he says, scratching his head thoughtfully. "She kept telling me I was driving too slow and I told her I was going the speed limit. But then she yelled at me and said there was _no_ speed limit."

"Helga _yelled_ at you?" Sandy questions, finally looking up from her book to raise a sharp brow at her husband. "I highly doubt that."

"Actually knowing Helga Pataki it's very possible," I reply.

"See? She did yell at me!" he defends, returning her skeptical look.

"Mmm-hmm," she replies, unconvinced, before looking back down at her book.

"Whatever," he mumbles in irritation. "That wasn't my point anyway. There was drama in the _town_. Like, just in general. I heard there was something going on and you could totally feel that the vibe was different. I mean there weren't even chickens running around all over the place like usual. And I swear this old woman was glaring at me through her window."

"Maybe she was staring at your face thinking your scruff's getting way too long and you should probably shave," Sandy states, squinting at him dramatically.

"Har har. I told you I'd shave tonight."

"Look, I'm sure you were just imagining it, honey," Sandy says, putting a comforting hand on his leg.

"I wasn't. I'm serious. Something's about to go down. I'm calling it now."

The idea of something bad happening in town while Helga's there freaks me out more than the fact that I don't believe him. "You don't know what you're talking about," I reply.

"He so rarely does," Sandy states with a tired voice.

"Come on, Sandy, you know I'm serious," Soren says, turning to her with a betrayed expression on his face.

"What about last week when you said you heard voices talking in the middle of the night?" she replies with a dramatic eye roll.

"But I _did_!" he exclaims, obviously offended that no one believes him.

"Even if you _did_ hear voices, it was probably one of us," I tell him, wondering when Soren got so paranoid. The possibility of hearing voices at night is so high, considering there are so many of us at the campsite.

"Hey, Arnold, are you sure we should stay and work? Those clouds look pretty ominous," Antoinette comments, twisting her head at an angle to gaze out of the tall, slanted windows of the temple's main room.

"Antoinette," I begin, trying to keep my voice void of the sudden, uncontrollable annoyance I feel, "we're in the _rainforest_. If we stop working every time it might rain we might as well quit this whole thing and head back to the states."

She frowns at me, crossing her arms across her chest. "You don't need to get snappy, Arnold, it was a legitimate question. I don't want it to rain so hard that it floods the chamber or something and then we get drowned in the tomb of some evil dead guy."

"There are less…poetic ways to go," Richard comments, sidling up to Antoinette.

"There's nothing poetic about drowning," she replies, snatching an apple piece from the lunch box on his lap and immediately takes a bite. "I can think of hundreds of ways I'd rather spend my time than inescapable death and a few of them have you in those scenarios." I watch, stunned, as she throws him a wink.

Okay, so, I think I've missed something. There may be a huge possibility that I was a little too preoccupied with thoughts of Helga since she arrived to notice this _slight_ change. Richard's flirting with Antoinette—scooting tightly next to her and…she _isn't_ moving away. In fact, she's even giving him the nicest smile in return. All I feel now is intense confusion. When did this happen? When did she stop avoiding him and instead start encouraging him? And if Antoinette's open to his advances, why is he still leaving flowers for Helga? None of this makes any sense.

Of course, maybe it isn't Richard who's leaving flowers…but if it's not him, then that really doesn't leave many other options, a fact that just makes my head spin even more. I grit my teeth tightly, the muscles working furiously in my jaw as my mind immediately turns to Helga—and my heart twinges from how much I miss her. And maybe from the fact that I'm afraid she'll never come back.

It's also been so long since I've had one of my visions that I'm starting to jump at every sound. Sleep has also escaped me since I'm more terrified of the vision I had while asleep than any I've had before. Not to mention the fact that Helga put all my fears into place that these aren't simple daydreams. And now, having been validated by her words, I'm more freaked than before.

I can't believe I spilt my guts to Helga. I'm not a talker. I'm not someone who shares their emotions and fears with anyone. I prefer to keep it all close to my chest and instead listen and help others with theirs. Even though Soren and Sandy have been a part of my life for a long time. I've never really confided in them. Only on a surface level when I have to—or am forced to. I never go deep in to my feelings or worries. I've never told them my deepest fears—those aching feelings deep inside that I try to hide from even myself. Even Gerald, the guy who was my best friend since childhood, isn't aware of them.

Gerald. I should reach out to him. But what's the point really? He doesn't reach out to me. It's almost like he's moved on from our long history of friendship. Does he really even care anymore? Probably not. We've hardly spoken since his wedding five years ago.

I haven't spoken to anybody else from Hillwood since I left either. I mean Susie Kakashka emails me updates on the boarding house and the tenants, but I only answer her once in a great while— and mostly just so she knows her boss isn't dead. The boarders email me—but only to whine or complain about each other or the boarding house. Not for any real reason or because they miss me or are worried about me.

So, ultimately, I am alone. But sometimes I think it's better this way. With people comes frustration, heartache, and betrayal. We live in a selfish, fast-paced world—no one _really_ cares about me. They talk to me because they need something. That's really all people do anymore: use each other. And once they get what they need, they leave. Once I'm not enough to keep them close or keep them interested…they just leave. It's just a lesson I've learned over and over again.

Since she's left I've literally thrown myself into my work—just like I used to back in college. I focus so intently on my work that the conversations around me are like background music—hardly noticeable at all. I don't want to feel this ache in my heart or this fear in my mind. I just want some hard work.

See? There I go again—thinking too much. Getting all…whatever this feeling is. That's why distraction has been my friend. I don't have to think about my loneliness or the possibility that Helga may never come back. Thankfully, archeology is full of exhaustive, all-encompassing work—digging, transcribing, photographing, cataloging, gathering samples, carbon dating, and the list goes on. All things that we haven't been doing much of since Helga's arrival. I've gotten very lackadaisical and infatuated and now we're behind. My chest hurts, not to mention my jaw—why do I keep clenching it so tightly?

I look up when I hear laughter from the others. What were they talking about? I glance down at my watch and realize the time. Awesome, we can get back to work and I can stop thinking.

"Alright, guys, let's get back to it," I direct, waving at them to get their attention.

"Wait, what?" Antoinette asks, her eyes wide with confusion.

"I said, 'let's get back to work'," I reply, me lip curling up at the corners in annoyance.

The rest of the group exchanges glances before grabbing their lunches and cleaning up the area.

Soren steps in front of me in a military stance and salutes. "Yes, sir!"

I can't tell if he's just being amusing or if there's more to his manner than that. "What?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs and looks down at me with arched brows. "I said, 'yes, sir'. I mean you've been acting like such a drill sergeant for at least a week, so I thought maybe that's what you wanted."

"Soren." Sandy's tone speaks volumes as she places a hand of warning on his shoulder.

I heave an irritated sigh. "What are you talking about? How am I any different than usual? Someone has to keep you guys on top of work."

Sandy sucks in a breath of surprise and Soren narrows his eyes at me, pushing his face into my own. "Seriously, Arnold? We've known you for _six_ years and we've been working for you for three, and you've never had to tell us to work hard. You know perfectly well we're all hard workers—well, except for maybe Richard—"

"Hey!" Richard yells from where he's still sitting up against the wall, calmly eating his sandwich, and showing no signs of packing up his stuff.

Soren waves him off and continues, his brows clenched together in a tight line. "The tension on his dig is horrible! And we're not dumb, Arnold. We know what's causing it."

"Hush, Soren," Antoinette reprimands. "It's not our place. Apparently, we're only his employees, not his friends."

"Soren's right!" Richard exclaims, coming to stand right in front of me with the rest of them. "Even though I don't know Arnold as well as you guys, I do know he's been a real butthead."

Even though, deep down, I know that maybe—just maybe—they have a point, it's ticking me off that they are just shouting it at me. Like usual no one's concerned about my feelings or what I'm dealing with. No one's thinking maybe there's a deeper reason I've turned into such a workaholic. No one's giving me the hug or deep human connection that I desperately want right now. All they know is that I've supposedly been a "butthead" the past few days and it's throwing off their groove.

"I'm right here, Richard!" I growl, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation. "Look, why don't I leave you guys so you can keep talking about me until your heart's content. Figure out what's wrong with me and let me know. Later."

With that I stride off toward the campsite, refusing to look back. I don't need to; I can feel their eyes watching me as I march away. Who cares if the skies decided that right now—at this exact moment—it's the perfect time to suddenly dump buckets of water down on me and soak me to the bone? It's hard to see with all the rain and sudden dark overcast, but I keep trudging through the mud until I reach the campsite. Kicking a bucket as hard as I can, I plop down onto a wet log by the rained-out fire pit.

I'm so wet at this point I'm dripping water as much as it's raining. But who cares. I could catch pneumonia and die and no one would care. And besides is that even a thing? Can you catch pneumonia just from being in the bad weather? I feel like that's likely just a wives' tale or something.

The rain pings and patters on things around me—pots, pans, buckets, tools, the generator—making its own kind of music that is surprisingly soothing to my aching soul. Like a ballad version of that song the gorillas in _Tarzan_ make when they're trashing the camp. I kind of feel like trashing this camp…maybe I'd feel better after letting all my emotions out.

A body-jolting shiver works its way up my spine and I wrap my arms around myself tightly. Okay, so maybe sitting out in this pouring rain wasn't the _best_ idea.

"Arnold?" A soft hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes gently.

I cringe at the sound of a voice. I really just want to be alone in my misery for once. I don't want to be forced to cheer up or look on the bright side. Just this once. Is that too much to ask?

"What?" I snap, not even turning around.

I can feel Sandy's hand recoil in shock, before she comes to stand in front of me. I can feel her eyes boring into me, but I keep my own looking down, staring at her mud-splattered boots, watching as her jeans darken by the second as the downpour soaks them.

"You didn't eat anything. Was something wrong with the sandwiches?" Her voice is calm, and reserved, and about as casual as can be. As if I didn't just snap and almost bite her head off.

Of course nothing is wrong with her sandwiches. Her sandwiches are just as amazing as everything else she cooks. I just didn't want to. "Of course not," I reply, finally meeting her eyes. Water trickles off her nose and drips through her hair and I suddenly feel bad that I made her get saturated by the rain water as well.

"Well, I noticed you didn't eat anything. Why don't you eat one now? You know I worry about you guys when you don't eat." She pulls out a bag with a soggy sandwich in it. "Oh, well, this one's a no go, but I've got some more in our tent. Just come sit inside, you're going to get sick from getting so wet." Without waiting for a response she steps into her tent, expecting me to follow.

But I'm not sure I want to follow her. I could just sit here and wallow in my gloom and ignore the fact that I'm literally soaked to the bone. Or I could go some place dry and have something to eat.

An intense shiver and a loud growling from my stomach makes the decision for me, however. The Hotchners' tent is one of those multi-room ones—three rooms to be exact. One to the left side has the boys' cots and toys, one to the right is where Sandy and Soren sleep, and the center one is their living area. It's a bit messy—which drives Soren nuts, but Sandy legitimately can't keep it organized. Her brain just doesn't work that way, but his does. It's caused a few tiffs between them, but in the end, it's each other's quirks and strengths that keep them together.

After taking my muddy boots off I scan the room, looking for a place to sit. Spotting a chair with a pile of books, I move them aside and sit down.

Sandy appears in front of me, her hair still dripping and clinging to her face and that sliver of guilt snakes its way to my chest since it's my fault she's soaked. "Here you go," she smiles, handing me a plate with a sandwich, sliced apple, and cookie. "Eat your sandwich before your dessert," she teases before turning around and sliding off her coat. She puts it on the back of another chair and sits down, pulling out some paperwork. "I'm going to work on translating those hieroglyphs we copied yesterday." With one last friendly smile my way, she looks down at the papers and begins reading.

The rain outside falls onto the tent, making a soft drumming sound all around us. I take a bite of my sandwich, watching Sandy, waiting for her to say something—waiting for her to try to get me to talk about the outburst in the temple just a few minutes ago. Instead, she just writes something on the paper and continues reading, ignoring me completely.

"There's nothing to talk about," I state, taking another bite and watching her closely. Surely she's trying to get me to talk. That's usually her plan.

"Oh, I know," she replies, not even looking up from the paperwork.

There's another long pause. It's just me eating and her reading and scribbling a note or two on her paper here and there, and the rain continues to fall outside.

"We've gotten behind on our work here," I note, the silence between us beginning to bother me, even though it's obviously not bothering her one bit.

"I agree."

"I'm just trying to get us caught up on it, is all." I wonder if she'll buy that—if she'll believe it's just because of that and not because I'm missing and freaking out about Helga being gone. Sandy purses her lips, intent on reading her paperwork. I feel like trying to see if I can distract her from it. "And maybe," I begin leisurely, "it helps to distract myself in the process."

"Mmm-hmm." She sounds just as disinterested as before.

"I mean…she'll be back, right? She won't just…never come back…or…disappear."

"You mean like your parents did?" Sandy asks, finally looking up at me, placing her pencil behind her ear and setting the papers in her lap.

I blink realizing what just happened. "How do you do that? How do you always get me to talk even when I don't want to and have no intention of doing so?"

She folds her arms across her chest and leans back, a sly grin playing on her lips. "It's called the magic of being a born listener. Or you could look at it as a curse," she adds with a light voice, but her lips curve down at the end, hinting at something much more than just a joke.

"Well…I'm not sure I like it," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughs, before leaning forward and patting my arm gently. "Look, Arnold, I'm going to be straight with you. Helga is going to come back. She cares about you and she won't desert you. So don't worry about it so much."

I give her a false laugh. "Everyone always told me my parents cared about me too, but they never came back."

"Well, I'm sure they had every intention of coming back. Obviously something happened and there was no way they could. I'm sure they would have if they had been able to, Arnold."

It'd be nice to believe that. An icy chill runs through me as a sudden realization hits me. "Something could happen to Helga, too."

She pauses and looks straight in front of herself, deep in thought. Finally she turns back to me, green eyes full of sincerity. "Well, that's true—I won't deny it. But listen to me, Arnold, she _is_ going to come back. I just know it."

I roll my eyes and sigh, leaning back in my chair. "You just know it? What makes you so sure?"

"I'm getting one of my vibes. And has my intuition ever been wrong?"

Sandy's vibes: her intuition. It's definitely something that's come up a bit since I've known her. Soren was her biggest skeptic until even he couldn't ignore it. In Egypt, we were about to hire an Arabic foreman from Luxor, but Sandy kept telling us she had really dark vibe about him. Even though Soren tried to pressure me into still hiring the guy, Sandy was just too insistent about it that I couldn't ignore it, and so I hired someone else. Besides, if she didn't like the guy, how could I expect her to work with him? About two weeks later, we heard he had been put in jail for stealing from a dig in the Valley of the Kings. And that hadn't been his first offense. Apparently, he had been stealing from digs for years. She didn't always verbalize that she had a "vibe", but when she did, especially when she was being serious, I tended to listen. Of course, it could have just been luck with her being right, but who really knows with that sort of thing?

"Well, no, you've never been wrong. All the same—"

"No. It's a fact. She's coming back. She cares about you. We've only got…what? Three more days until she's supposed to be back. You're going to be just fine. I promise you, you'll survive." She winks at me lightheartedly, reaching down to dig in a bag next to her. She pulls out two York peppermint patties and tosses one to me. "Stress relief."

I roll my eyes and smile. That woman always has chocolate hidden somewhere nearby. How she stays as skinny as she is, is beyond me. "Even if she does come…I don't know what do to."

Sandy watches me quietly for a moment. "You mean because you're in love with her?" she finally asks, her voice quiet and serious.

I joke on the chocolate piece in my mouth. " _What_?"

She reaches out patting me on the back. "Sorry, sweetie, but it's painfully obvious."

I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks. "Does _everyone_ think that? Does _Helga_?" my voice rises nervously.

She purses her lips thoughtfully. "Well, remember, Arnold, I'm a people reader, so knowing these kind of things comes with the territory. But after the recent… _incident_ today at the temple I'd guess the others probably suspect as much. And I can't say about Helga. She's a bit harder for me to read than the others. But I think she might."

I feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach and close my eyes for a moment.

Sandy places a soft hand on my arm. "Would it really be so bad if she knows how you feel?"

I don't answer her question. I'm not even sure myself. "But what do I do about it?"

"Well, what do you _want_ to do about it?" she asks, her green eyes watching me closely, trying to read me.

"I don't know."

She looks away, deep in thought again. Sometimes Sandy reminds me of the stories of the goddess Wadjet. Protector of Egypt—savior for Wadjmose and his family. Founder of the green eyes. Always watchful, wise, and always there to protect those around her.

She looks back at me again, her eyes pensive. "Arnold, what are you afraid of?"

I shake my head and glance away, hating that she was somehow reading my every feeling. "I don't know."

"Are you afraid of a broken heart?" She moves so that I have to look her in the eyes again. "It's not so bad. It hurts for a while, but it mends."

I cringe, remembering Helga's assumption from a few days ago about me supposedly breaking Sandy's heart back in college. How can you break someone's heart if you were never even given it in the first place? "You've had your heart broken?" I ask, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as I'm feeling.

"Once or twice," she shrugs. "It's part of life. But you can't let that hold you back. You can't let it keep you from taking the risk. It's worth it. I don't regret anything in my past that led to heartbreak—because I tried. I made an effort and it was worth it in one way or another. Most especially because it led me to the path I'm on now. Those risks I took, those chances, those times I gave my heart away whether blatantly or in secret led me to Soren—and I love him like no one I've ever loved before. If those experiences hadn't led me there I'd have never have met him, or married him, and we'd never have had our beautiful boys and lived this life." A few tears sneak down her cheeks as she looks me in the eyes again. "Don't ever fear the risk of heartbreak. One way or another it's always worth it."

"Who broke your heart?" I ask, still afraid Helga was right and I inadvertently broke Sandy's heart in the past.

Sandy breaks into amused laughter. "Does that really matter? Did you even understand my point?"

"I'm not afraid of heartbreak," I admit, finally.

"Then what are you afraid of? I can tell something's holding you back."

I bite my lip, waffling between telling her the truth or something else. But the way I can see her mind watching me and analyzing me…I don't think she'd fall for a lie. "I'm worried I won't be enough for her. I'm afraid she'll leave me…" my words falter and I stare at the tent wall.

"How much do you love her?"

"More than I've ever loved anyone," I answer honestly, surprised at my own admission.

"Then, Arnold, it's worth the risk of her leaving you. But I think you'll be enough. I think you are enough. You're amazing, and smart, and kind, and compassionate, and you share so many interests with her. You two compliment each other beautifully." She places her hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look back at her. "You deserve a lifetime of love in your life, Arnold. You deserve to always have people in your life who care for you. And most of all you deserve Helga—someone who will love you unconditionally and fill all those holes your parents left—"

I move to protest, but she cuts me off.

"You can deny it, Arnold, but they are there. People won't always leave you. We're still here, aren't we? Six years later and we're still with you. You've ordered us around for eight days straight and almost worked us to exhaustion, but we're still here. You _are_ important, you _are_ special, and we all care about you. And despite what you think, Helga cares about you. We aren't going anywhere, Arnold. And neither is Helga."

Even though I suddenly feel so exposed and vulnerable from her knowing so much of my feelings lately, I'm slightly comforted. Maybe Sandy's right. Her intuition hasn't been wrong yet. Maybe Helga _will_ be fine and maybe she _will_ come back. And maybe…just maybe giving her my heart will be worth whatever follows after.

Sandy glances down at her watch and smiles at me. "Now, since the rain has stopped, I should probably run and make sure Eduardo and the kids are okay. But listen, Arnold. Maybe lay off the militarist behavior for a while, okay?"

We both laugh as she slips her boots back on and steps out into the muddy jungle. Thank you, Sandy, for being the one to look on the bright side when I can't. Sometimes it's nice to have another optimist to keep a hurting one from falling too deep.

* * *

It's been a few days since my conversation with Sandy, and while I still feel a little better, the fear still pokes at my heart. I decided to spend the afternoon back at camp working on translations and organizing all the paperwork we've done so far. Some of the paperwork's gotten a little disorganized and if don't fix it now it's going to be huge mess later.

Splashing sounds and an engine fill the campsite and I glance up to see Eduardo pulling up in the jeep. For the moment the rain seems to have stopped, but the cloud covering and mud have remained. Eduardo puts the jeep in park and jumps out, splashing down into the muddy soil. The supplies he went for fill the back of the jeep. Dropping the papers I'd been working on into my tent, I jog over, avoiding the muddy puddles as best I can.

" _¡Hola_ , _Eduardo!_ " I call when I've almost reached him. "Need a hand?"

"Sí, Arnold. _Gracias_ ," he replies gesturing to the boxes in the back of the jeep. " _¡Rápid_ o! Before the rain comes again," he adds looking up at the still dark skies. They've been overcast for three days straight. We must be in the rainy season of the rainforest. Probably something I should know—or have at least looked up by now.

We start unloading, carefully placing the boxes inside the mess-hall tent where we will be able most easily unpack them, and where any sudden rain won't damage them.

"How was the trip to town?" I ask him.

"Oh, it was _lo mismo de siempre_. Nothing much different. No rain though. That was _muy bueno_."

I grab a box, grinning when I see what's inside. Flour and cocoa. Sandy's going to be thrilled. She's been talking all week about her chocolate cake craving and lamenting over her lack of cocoa.

Eduardo peeks into the box to see what I'm grinning at. " _¡Delicioso!_ _Señora's_ chocolate cake! _¡Mi_ favorito!"

" _¡Sí!_ " I exclaim, already salivating thinking about her cake. It's nothing fancy. A simple chocolate cake with no icing, baked by the fire, and made with simple ingredients. I guess it was a recipe used during the great depression when a lot of ingredients were scarce from rationing. But somehow it's the richest chocolate cake I can remember having and a huge favorite in the group.

Instead of grabbing another box, I start unpacking the baking goods so that maybe Sandy will see them when the team gets back for lunch and, you know, get the idea and bake that cake right away! But at the bottom of the box, underneath all the bags of flour, is a newspaper—a local printing from the small town where we get our supplies. Pulling it out so I can break down the box, I glance back at it and almost gasp at the headline.

"Something wrong, Arnold?" Eduardo asks, having heard my gasp.

"What's this?" I ask him, picking up the newspaper and staring at it.

He leans over the box he's unpacking to see what I'm holding. "Eh, local newspaper. _¿Por qué?_ " he questions coming to stand next to me. Taking his hat off, he wipes the sweat from his brow. Another humid day in the jungle.

I can feel Eduardo peering at the article from over my shoulder. "The river pirate La Sombra was seen nearby. Ah, maybe it is fortunate we are not staying in town, no?"

"La Sombra?" I whisper, a bitter taste in my mouth. A name from my childhood nightmares—a name I always suspected was the reason my parents never came home. An infamous name I hoped I'd never have to hear again, let alone in such proximity.

Eduardo doesn't seem surprised like I am by the article. Perhaps it's not uncommon for La Sombra to cause problems nearby. That's a comforting thought. "He's still here?" I look up at him in surprise. "I always assumed he'd be in jail by now."

"No, they never have been able to catch him. But, you know, the local _policia_ are not so good." Eduardo frowns down at the article. "He's still a menace to the locals. _¡Un canalla_!"

It worries me, thinking La Sombra was here in the area. Not to mention the fact that Helga's out traipsing around somewhere… _alone_! What if—no, Arnold, don't think like that. Everything's gonna be okay…Sandy's got her…vibe. Right?

"Arnold, _mijo_ , I know what troubles you." Eduardo's tone has changed. He sounds empathetic suddenly.

My eyes dart back up to his face. _How does everyone know I love Helga?_

"It is because of your parents, yes? You wonder if La Sombra is to blame for their disappearance." Eduardo turns and stares out into the darkening jungle. "It is what I have always thought, too. I'm sure La Sombra was angry with them after they stole _La Corazón_ from him all those years ago. _Hace mucho tiempo_." He has a far-off look in his eyes, his brows furrowed, as he continues to stare into the jungle.

"It's strange to hear his name—to hear that he's still here and people still speak of him when my…when they…" I can't seem to finish the sentence.

"When your parents are not. That is what you want to say, no?" Eduardo looks at me, his dark eyes sad.

I nod, moisture in my eyes. My heart twinges in pain at his words and I bite back the tears that are forming. Grief is a puppeteer…even years later it can still control you—still make your anguish fresh again. You can push it down and fight it, but somehow it still can sneak up and take hold of you.

"I will tell you, Arnold, guilt is my constant _compadre_. Guilt because I was the one who convinced your parents to come help the Green Eyed people that last time. _Una última vez_. That is what I told them. It is because of me that they did not return home to you—their son. That they never got to see you again, never got to raise you and watch you grow up. _Me pesa mucho lo que pasó._ _Lo siento,_ Arnold. _Lo siento mucho_." He looks at me, his eyes brimming with moisture and reaches out to hug me.

I return his hug, blinking back tears of my own. "It is not your fault they chose to go. They could have said no."

He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. " _Quizás_. Still I should not have come. The Green Eyed people did fine for thousands of years before your parents, they would have been okay. You know, _mijo_ , I wanted to come. To see you as a child to tell you about your parents and about how sorry I was. But I could not. My guilt was much and I worried I would just hurt you more by doing so."

"Eduardo…it isn't your fault. Whether or not you brought the message from the Green Eyes— _they_ still made the decision to go. _They_ still left. It's not your fault."

He shakes his head, his hands still on my shoulders and a melancholy smile on his face. "Arnold, I wish they could have lived to see you today. You would have made them so proud. Following in their footsteps and studying the Green Eyes' once great civilization. Putting together such a great team. Having such a good group of _amigos_. They would have been so proud of you."

Eduardo's mutual grief over my parents calms me for a moment—gives me a brief sense of not being alone—even if it's only for a moment.

* * *

Today. Finally.

I'm excited and antsy and scared all at once. I think I'm going to go bald from running my nervous hands through my hair over and over again. And my watch is probably tired of seeing my face—checking it to see the time—the time that is moving so insanely slow.

But finally…finally it's almost time.

"Hey, Arnold, we're going to pick up Helga from town now, do you want to come with us?" Sandy asks, giving me a meaningful look.

"Yah, you could take her on a hot date or something at the local café or whatever they have there," Soren comments hopping into the driver's seat. Sandy elbows him harshly in the ribs. "OW! What'd I do?"

I chuckle to mask my apprehension. As much as I want to go, I'm so afraid she won't be there that I don't think I could handle it. Not to mention the fact that I'm so in love with her it's still freaking me out and I still don't know what to do about—or even what I want to do about it.

"No, thanks. I have a lot to get done here."

"Are you sure, Arnold?" Antoinette asks, a worried expression on her face. "You could probably use the break. You've been tense, to say the least."

I give her a wry smile. "I'll be fine, Antoinette. I promise. But thanks for the concern."

"She'll be there, Arnold," Sandy whispers to me as she walks by and heads to the jeep. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder," she adds, sliding into the seat next to Soren, the boys bounching around in the back.

"What's that now?" Soren asks, raising his eyebrow quizzically.

"Nothing, babe." She winks at me and they all wave and call their good-byes before heading out.

I feel like I'm going to throw up. I'm queezy and light-headed, and twitching nervously. Despite Sandy's confidence that Helga will return—I'm just not so sure, and my body feels so insanely tight—like wires are running through me and being pulled from opposite ends. My shoulders are starting to ache and I'm wearing my lip from working it between my lips.

Distraction…I need a distraction. I glance around my tent looking for anything to distract myself, when I see the tip of and old trunk sticking out from beneath my cot. Not necessarily a happy distraction—but a strong one, and maybe just what I need.

I don't have much from my parents, and what I do have I stored in a box when I was sixteen when I was sick and tired of wishing and hoping my long lost parents would ever come back. Fifteen years without a word from them…I finally decided they were dead, or if they were alive, they didn't _want_ to come back.

The box had become a trunk when I went to college. A sturdy place to keep those things that still meant so much to me, but were too painful to look at. Tentatively I pull the latch and crack open the small chest. Memories flood back at the items in the trunk. The picture of my parents on their honeymoon—the one I kept safely in a drawer by my pillow until I was thirteen. A picture of all of us with my grandparents during my first birthday party. And the only family picture I have of the three of us—me just a little baby. My old, blue baseball cap that I wore every day until I was thirteen and it was just too small and ridiculous looking.

I pause at the last item and pull my hand back. Something I have looked at for so long. Something that seems just as fantastical as the stories my Grandpa Phil used to tell me about my parents. My father's brown, leather bound journal: his memories of all that happened during his time in San Lorenzo and Hillwood before they left me that last time.

I stare at the thing and it feels as if it's staring back at me. My lips press together in a slight grimace and reach up to rub the back of my neck. A longing flows through me like a wave, but it's countered by a tightness in my chest and a sinking in my stomach. I want to read it again after all these years. But I know the landslide of pain and other emotions that will take over me if I do. Feelings that I spent too much of every day trying to bury within me, trying to push down, trying to hide from others, a pain still so raw and brutal it gnaws at my heart all the time—eating away little bits at a time like a little squirrel eating a cracker.

But I miss them. I can't remember my parents, but I miss feeling like I knew them from reading the pages in my dad's journal. I miss that warm feeling I'd get while I read it, as if they were still with me. I could almost picture them there next to me, their smiling faces so proud of who their son had become. Their laughter brightening the darkness of the old boarding house. Oh, how I'd daydream about them. About all the things we'd do or talk about if they ever came back. How it would mend that hole in my heart just a tad if I'd let it.

I want that now. I want to not feel alone anymore. I want to not worry about whether or not Helga's never coming back. Whether or not Helga cares for me as anything more than someone she once knew. I want to feel that warmth and comfort again.

Reaching down I grip the old leather in my hand, pausing there, not lifting it up, trying to will myself to calm down—to think clearly—to decide if this is really what I want to do. I squeeze it tightly—fighting with myself.

But then, I change my mind. Thinking maybe it's better not to open those wounds again. So I squeeze it one last time—

 _There's something about the sound of a propeller and engine that soothes a tattered soul. Like the white-noise machine my parents put next to my bed when I was a child and couldn't fall asleep. Just a rhythmic, evenly paced drone of a small Piper plane, blocking out distractions and sounds. And thoughts—sad, painful thoughts._

 _For all the beauty before my eyes—for all the majesty that is the rainforest, its rolling river below us, its awesome cliff and waterfall in front of us, and the gigantic expanse of open sky before us—my heart's not in it anymore. My heart's back home in Hillwood, sleeping in his little crib, fast asleep—without his parents nearby._

 _Stella places her hand on my shoulder comfortingly. She's feeling the same way. Maybe even worse than me. Mothers miss their babies the most, I'm sure. But I miss Arnold. I miss him so much already that it's like a thousand tiny knives piercing my heart. I'm already regretting our decision to leave. We'd promised him we'd never take our eyes off him again—never leave him. But here we are…running off to a far country to help strangers. If we couldn't say no this time…how will we ever say no every time in the future when The Green Eyed people call for our help again?_

 _I glance over at Stella. Light reflects off a few scattered teardrops on her cheeks. She's holding a picture of baby Arnold tightly in her hands, holding it low so the wind from our flight doesn't grab it and take it from her. We miss him so much._

 _I look forward again, focusing on the soft sounds of the propeller again. It's even kilter, its loud hum. I let it get into my mind and block out everything else. Forcing myself to think about nothing but that sound, as I watch for our destination. We'll be there soon. Near the Green Eye alter that borders their realm._

 _Oh no._

 _No, no, no, no._

 _That loud hum, that purr of the engine…it's…it's fading. A chill rushes down my spine._

 _The engine is out and the sound diminishes until nothing is left but the sluggish clicking of the propellers as they turn less and less. We're just gliding…floating for now. Minutes, maybe seconds away from a possible crash._

 _A quick glance back at Stella tells me she's just as concerned as I am. "Restart the engine!" she directs pointing to the control panel._

 _I try. It sounds like it just might work, but then kills out again._

" _Are we out of fuel?" Stella asks._

" _The fuel gage is fine, we have plenty of gas," I reply._

" _Then what's going on?"_

" _I don't know." My voice is softer than I mean it to be. I'm trying my best to process what's happening._

 _I try not to panic. We've been in crazy situations before, we can fix this. We_ have _to fix this._

 _Reaching up, I turn the trim on the winding wheel above my head._

 _"What are you doing?" Stella asks, a look of panic crossing her face._

 _"Trying to get us a bit more drag and hopefully slow…our descent." My heart hammers and I close my eyes, trying to remember everything I learned in flight school all those years ago._

 _Reaching down I try to start the engine again, but this time it only revs endlessly. And we're picking up speed…the earth getting closer and closer to us by the second._

 _A shot of rage flows through me at my powerlessness. "No!" I shout, pounding my fist onto the dash._

 _But the rage dissipates and I can feel the acceptance of our likely fate and tears start to form. A small Piper plane versus the rainforest…not very good survival odds—especially at the rate and height we're falling from._

 _"Miles," Stella's voice calls to me as her hand finds my shoulder again. "Miles."_

 _I glance back at her, fresh tears streaming down her face. "You can do it, Miles. You can save us. You have to save us. For Arnold. We have to get home to Arnold." The tears are coming faster now, the pleading in her voice so strong. Yet, somehow her face exudes bravery. She believes in me. She believes in the way we always beat hopeless odds._

 _The plane turns into a nose dive, slowly at first. I reach for the controls, praying I can at least lessen the blow we're about to feel. I glance up at a picture of my little family—the three of us—pinned next to the front window of the plane. My thoughts fly as fast as the trees that are heading for us while I fight to control the plane._

 _I should have told Eduardo no. We should have stayed. We should have stayed in Hillwood…with Arnold. Our son. Our pride and joy. Why did I leave? Why did I think helping the Green Eyes was more important than being there for my son?_

 _Stella grabs my arm, squeezes it tightly, the picture of Arnold tucked protectively into the pocket of her shirt. The trees swoosh past the side windows. Any second now—though the seconds have slowed—or so it seems._

 _CRUNCH—CRASH!_

 _The tip of the right wing catches a tree, breaking the wing—the plane to leans slightly._

 _I shouldn't have left. I'll never see my parents again._

 _CRUNCH!_

 _I'll never get to tell Arnold how much I love him. I'll never get to see him grow up—never get to take him fishing, or camping, or play ball with him._

 _CRACK!_

 _I'll never see the boy he becomes, the man he grows up to be._

 _I'll never see my son again. Never._

 _Seconds from impact, I grit my teeth in anticipation. Stella and I cling to each other, and brace for the impact. At least in these final moments I have her—the love of my life—with me._

 _I love you, Arnold. I love you, son._

 _We slam into more trees—a rush of air and dirt flies past us. Closing my eyes I think of Arnold. The sound of us hitting the trees is deafening. The plane bounces, hits the nose, and then tips to the side before it pole-vaults over into a cartwheel._

 _The roaring noise of the crash becomes muffled—sparkling lights—a wave of pain shoots through me, and then, darkness._


	14. Flowery Fued

Chapter 13:

The darkness is endless; the depths of it like some kind of abysmal hell, stretching on for an eternity of loneliness and gloom. A severe pressure begins in my head, almost indiscernible, until it builds into an unbearable pain that causes me to grimace and recoil within myself. I open my eyes but immediately squeeze them shut again with a groan as bright light blinds me. The pain in my head escalates because of it and every instinct in me, just wants to curl back up into that darkness—that painless, empty nothingness that only moments before consumed me.

" _Arnold?"_

That voice. I know that voice. But who—who is it? "Stella?" I try to peak again…opening my eyes just a slit in an attempt to ease them into adjusting to the brightness. My vision swims and a blurry figure moves in front of me, blocking out some of the brightness.

" _No, it's Helga. Arnold, are you okay?"_

"Helga." The name sends a fluttering into my stomach, and a temperate tightness to my chest. "Helga!" The immense relief and passion that floods through me at the sight of her sitting there next to me, dressed in soft pink, sends warmth flooding through me like a blanket straight out of a dryer. And the desolation of that darkness in my mind before seems all but a thin, fleeting memory. "Helga, it's really you! You came back!" I can't help myself: I spring forward and fling my arms around her, pulling her tightly into my embrace. If I wasn't so dizzy, I'd probably kiss her too, but at the rate the world is still spinning I'd probably miss her lips altogether.

"Of course I came back, you goof," she teases, returning my hug unlike the many times I hugged her in our childhood. "I've got an article to finish," she continues, pulling away, but still grinning at me.

Words escape me as I allow my eyes to take her in. Her outfit is a bit dressier than what's she's been wearing on our digs. She has on the skirt from the day I first met her here, a belt made of gold-discs hanging loosely from her hips, and a soft pink v-neck with a gold locket around her neck. Her hair flows down in soft curls and splays across her shoulders. Somehow she looks even lovelier than I remember her.

But despite her beauty and beaming smile, there's a nagging and prickling in my chest—like there's something I'm forgetting—something important…but awful and sad, and excruciatingly painful…but what is it? My mind is so foggy I can't seem to place the sensation. It's ominous and heavy and making me feel a bit nervous and on edge, despite the brilliant smile Helga is gracing me with.

It's that feeling you get when you're happy…like it's only going to last a second because there's something you tried to forget, but didn't quite succeed at completely forgetting. Like the rock that causes the ripple in a pond…the rock's no longer visible beneath the water, but the ripple still remains—the only hint of its existence.

Helga watches me closely and her face suddenly fades into a frown. "What's wrong, Arnold? And what happened? We came back to camp and found you passed out in your tent. Are you okay?" she questions, sounding a bit more rattled than normal.

That pain…that sensation that I'm forgetting something…something important…something awful. I close my eyes tightly, searching my mind…how _did_ I pass out? Nothing comes to me. No recollection whatsoever. It's unnerving, to say the least.

"I…I…" I stumble over words that I don't even remember. It's right there, but I can't quite grasp it. "I just…"

She grabs my hand, redirecting my attention to her. "Arnold, what happened?"

Now I remember. The memory collides back into my mind, causing me to physically wince. My parents. My daydre—my vision. The view before me clouds for a moment…Helga weaves in out and in front of me. The subtle pain in my chest turns into a fountain of emotions. So many different feelings and reactions churning around inside me and I feel as if I might pass out again. What did I witness? Was it actually…was it actually the death of my parents? Do I finally know what happened to them after all these years? Do I finally have the answer I've searched for my _entire_ life?

I glance up at Helga and I can tell she knows I've remembered and that she already suspects what it is. The look in her eyes tells me everything. I can see the sympathy in them—my own heartbreak mirrored in them. "It happened again, didn't it, Arnold?"

Apparently, I've been wrong all this time. Apparently, I didn't squelch all hope—apparently there was still an ember of hope left inside me…hope that somehow my parents were still out there somewhere. Alive. Still searching for a way back home—a way back to me. But now…now, thanks to whatever this stupid curse I have is, I know I was wrong. And that ember—that beacon that was more of a driving force in my life than even I realized—is a knife slicing it's way through my heart—taking my grief and my pain and making it that much more excruciating.

"Arnold." Helga's hand is under my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. "What happened?"

I feel weak. Almost like I can't move—can't breathe.

Her blue eyes widen with sadness, searching mine. "It was another vision, wasn't it? Was it the same guy as before? Did he hurt someone else?"

"No," I breathe, almost inaudibly. I force my eyes shut, hoping to end the dizziness. I can feel myself swaying as I try to remain upright. Pain of unshed tears pressing against my eyelids.

"Stay with me, Arnold," she says. The feel of both her hands on my cheeks makes me open my eyes again. "Who was it? What did you see?"

"M-my parents," I choke out, my voice breaking and weak.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and her hands tighten on my face slightly. "You had one of your visions…about your parents?" She is silent for a moment and I almost miss a flash of something across her face. "You…called me Stella."

My heart plummets into my stomach and it becomes even harder to breath. "My mom."

Her eyes brows knit together and her frown deepens. "Oh, Arnold." Her thumb caresses my cheek softly. I can see her searching for the right words, sorrow filling her eyes. "Do you…do you want to talk about it?" she asks, gingerly.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Helga, I think it was a vision of how they…died." I choke on the last word and grimace at the wave of nausea that overwhelms me.

"Oh, _¡querido!_ " Helga whispers, putting her arms around me and pulling me close.

I tell her everything about the vision while she holds me as she runs a hand through my hair. It feels so good and I'm able to relax, if only for a moment. I tell her about the thoughts my dad had, about the terror they felt, of everything they saw and that flashed in front of their eyes, and finally the end. So many mixed emotions tumble through my mind and I really can't decide how to feel. I just know it hurts all over again, and that hope I once held is now completely shattered—shattered by first-hand knowledge of their death.

When I've finished, she pulls away slightly and holds my hands. The empathy in her eyes is both comforting and painful. "Arnold…I'm…I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I know nothing can make this any better."

I take a deep breath, ready to move on and put this back inside of me like I always do. Hide it, like a shadow in my heart, the way I've always done before. I'm only okay with having my feelings exposed and raw for so long. "It's alright, Helga. I don't know what to say either. I'm just really, really glad you're back. I…I missed you a lot," I admit. I regret it almost immediately and pull my hand away to rub at my neck awkwardly.

But she reaches out and touches my face again, a poignant smile on her lips. Then a long string of words I can't understand leaves her lips. I only recognize one word amongst them all— _amor_ : love. Then she notices my puzzled expression and chuckles before pulling her hand away. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you don't speak Portuguese."

"What did you say then?"

She shrugs and chuckles again. "I said that I _love_ French fries and long walks through dark tunnels where counterfeit pennies are piled high and a creepy wheezin' pirate crouches nearby."

I smile at her, appreciating her attempts to both distract and cheer me up. "You did not."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. You'll never know. Therein lies the beauty of being able to speak a long list of foreign languages." She slides off the cot and stands up, reaching her hand out to me. "Come on, I know what will help distract you."

She pulls me along, leading me outside to the deserted campsite. I'm fully ready to allow her to distract me from the heartache, shock, confusion, and pain tossing around inside me. I'd like to just file the feelings away until I can deal with what's just happened. But I'm not sure it will work. I feel…on edge. As if at any moment it could happen again…as if any moment I will have to relive the death of my parents over and over and over again.

"Where is everyone?" I ask her, surprised to see that even though the sun is setting everyone seems missing.

"They're all working at the temple. _Apparently_ their boss has been quite a slave driver this past week and they didn't want to upset him by not working." She grins mischievously up at me. "Even _if_ he was passed out cold. I'm gonna have to teach them how to take better advantage of these kinds of things."

"Really?" I ask, instantly annoyed with myself for being miffed that they didn't stick around.

"Yes. I mean when you've got a gift you're supposed to share it, right?" she asks chuckling. "And I definitely have a gift for taking advantage of opportunity."

I shake my head. "That may be so, but I meant did they really keep working and tell you I was a slave driver."

"Well, yes about the slave driver part—you must have really pissed off Soren, by the way. He kept going on and on about it." She elbows me playfully. "Honestly, though, they're coming back now, see?"

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty's awake," Soren calls as they all approach.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "Shut up."

"I _knew_ you'd been working too hard," Sandy says, wagging a finger at me. "And not drinking enough water, I'm sure. Are you okay? Helga assured us she'd watch over you so we could take the boys for a walk."

"I took great care of him," Helga replies, throwing her arm around my shoulders and patting my chest. "See?" she asks, rubbing her hand across my chest slowly and smirking. "Look at the guy, he's a regular Hercules again."

I snort and roll my eyes again.

Sandy gives me a knowing look before turning toward the fire pit. "I'll start dinner. So nobody go far…or else!"

"I'll help," pipes up Antoinette and the two make their way over to the stove.

"I'm gonna show Arnold something real quick, but we'll be back. Come on," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me along again, once more heading for her tent. "I gotta grab something and— _Crimeny_!" she exclaims when a huge pile of wilting flowers falls out of her tent when she opens its door.

I feel myself sneer in disgust. Ugh. Stupid Richard. I kind of hate that guy.

"Wow, someone missed me!" Helga jokes, elbowing me teasingly, but I push her away in irritation.

"Are you kidding me?" I exclaim in disgust. "He's _still_ leaving them? He was just getting cozy with Antoinette a few hours ago! What a creep!"

Helga stares at me her brows furrowed in confusion. "Who? What are you talking about?"

"That Dick—I mean Richard!" I'm not even sorry for the slip-up.

Helga narrows her eyes at me. "How do you know it's Richard?"

"Because it isn't me," I shout, heat rising to my face, fists clenching at my sides. "Who else is there?"

Helga takes a small step away from me and shrugs. "Maybe it's Soren."

I force out a humorless laugh. "He has the highest of morals of any man I've ever known. He'd never do that to Sandy."

"Soren equals saint. Gotcha." She shoots me a sarcastic thumbs up. "So maybe it's Eduardo. Maybe he has a thing for younger women," she scoffs.

"It's not Soren and it's not Eduardo!" I burst out, my voice rising in volume. I can hear a gasp from Sandy, and see the rest of them turn around to look over at us from over Helga's shoulder.

Helga tips her head to the side and gazes at me in confusion. "What's the big deal, Arnoldo? They're just flowers. Why do you care so much about who's leaving them?"

Letting a frustrated growl escape my lips, I spin on my heel, stomping away from her in exasperation. I rage past the others, loping away from the camp, already slightly embarrassed by my behavior, but still just as mad as before.

"Hey, wait! Let's talk about this!" Helga calls after me. Even with her lack of boots today, she catches up to me quickly. Grabbing my shoulder she forces me to turn and face her.

"There's nothing to talk about," I reply, shrugging her off of me.

She narrows her eyes at me while simultaneously arching a brow. " _Obviously_ there is. For some reason you're freaking out about the slim _possibility_ that Richard is leaving flowers for me." When I don't respond she steps closer to me and peers into my face. "Are you _jealous_?"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" I sneer through clenched teeth. Fire rages through my veins fueled by, not only jealousy, but also resentment at being called out on it.

"I'd like what?" she asks, scrunching up her nose at me in bewilderment.

"You'd love for the tables to be turned and for me to be the one pining after _you_ like _you_ pined after _me_ all through grade-school." I flinch at my own words realizing the devastating effect they're likely to have, but I'm so sick of having these feelings for her while she's likely just playing games with me.

Her mouth drops open in shock at my words and she just stares at me for a moment—I'm sure shocked at such a horribly callous comeback from me. "I know you still think I'm just a big, heartless bully, Arnold, but I would _never_ wish that kind of heartache on _anyone_ ," she says, her voice low with barely retrained anger and maybe even a hint of bitterness. "This isn't like you—you're acting crazy—all over a few poorly picked flowers."

I suddenly feel extremely stupid and ashamed for bringing up her childhood infatuation again. Why do I keep doing that? It's like deep down I'm hoping she'll admit those feelings of hers never died and that she still feels that way about me. "I'm sorry, that was really uncalled for." She gives me a "no duh" look and I glance away. "Look, I'm not jealous," I try to say as calmly as possible, even though the sting of jealousy still hangs in my mind. "You want Richard, go have him."

She huffs at me and rolls her eyes. "I don't want Richard. He isn't my type."

"Do you even have a type?" I ask, and then immediately want to smack myself.

"How's this even relevant to the flowers?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, he's _way_ too into Antoinette to be leaving flowers for _me_. Even _you_ noticed that."

I shrug and grimace slightly. "So maybe he's a player. I hardly know the guy. It wouldn't surprise me."

"Are you nutty? I don't think so. He's a little too goobery to be a player, don't you think?" she asks, putting a hand on her hip.

"That's mean."

"Like you should talk, Arnold. You just called him a dick not more than a minute ago. And I'm not dumb enough to buy _that_ as a slip-up." She shakes her head before pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "They're _just_ flowers! You're blowing this _way_ out of proportion."

"I am not. I'm just trying to keep the peace in this group and this is drama waiting to happen," I reply, shaking my finger at her.

"Arnold, the only one being dramatic is you," she exclaims throwing her arms out in exasperation. "Besides…are you sure it's not you? Maybe you sleep walk," she states, pointing an accusing finger at me.

"Ugh. It's not me. I do _not_ sleepwalk," I insist, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Says he who chronically has visions and either spaces out or passes out because of them," she states, arching an eyebrow.

A wave of icy-hot betrayal washes over me and I blink in shock. "You did not just go there, Helga. I told you that in confidence. Don't you dare mock me," I growl, the muscle in my jaw starting to hurt from the tension.

Color rises to her cheeks. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

But it's too late—once again someone I trusted has betrayed me. "You probably were just pretending to care about me—pretending that you want to help me. I can't believe I trusted you!" A sharp pain pricks at my heart and I have to hold my hand against my chest for a second until it passes.

"Arnold, I'm sorry! I _do_ care! I really do!" Helga exclaims stepping forward and putting her hands on my shoulders, her eyes pleading with me to believe her. "It's just…this is _crazy_ , Arnold. You're acting so completely irrational about all of this and I don't know how to help you calm down."

"I don't need to calm down," I growl, pushing her hands off me and stepping away.

She shakes her head before plopping down onto a nearby stump. "You make me so mad! You were _just_ slapping my past in my face, and I worded something wrong, and you're making me out to be the bad guy!" she cries before slipping into a rapid string of Portuguese and dramatic gestures.

It's not like not being able to understand her is going to help me feel any better. "Stop talking in Portuguese!" I burst out as I walk to stand in front of her.

She stops talking and glares at me for a moment. Then, as if someone turned on the light switch, her eyes widen and her mouth drops open in shock. "Shh! Look," she whispers, trying to discreetly point behind me.

I turn to look but Helga grabs my arm, forcing me to turn back. "What?" I ask in a sharp whisper.

She nods her head. "Casual. Be casual."

So as inconspicuously as I can, I glance over my shoulder to see what the big deal is. It's probably a jaguar coming to eat me—that's about what I deserve after this most recent and embarrassing outburst of mine.

But it's no jaguar…instead, it's little Ramses who is very slowly army-crawling towards us with a large purple flower in his hand. As if he's a little ninja he slithers between trees until he nears the stump Helga is now on and he's hidden so well behind it I can't see him anymore. We both stay frozen, waiting to see what he'll do next.

A second later his little chubby hand holding the flower pops up from behind the stop. With perfect stealth he places the flower on the stump next to Helga, then slinks back behind the trees.

All I can do is stand there and gape as I watch him crawling back to camp. Helga, however, jumps up and grabs my arm before doubling over with laughter.

"You've got to be kidding me," I breathe, a broad smile taking over my face.

"And I was _so_ sure it was _you_ ," Helga says between giggles, still clinging to my arm for support. "I guess it wasn't you or Richard."

"That couldn't have been farther from the truth," I say, joining in her laughter.

"Why didn't either of us ever suspect the kids?" Helga says, her laughter finally slowing down.

It's like a bucket of cold water pouring over my head when my behavior over the last few minutes sinks it. Why in the world did I get so worked up over some dumb flowers? It's like my head isn't on straight anymore with Helga around—or when she's gone for that matter. I've got to get a hold of myself and stop blowing things out of proportion. This jealousy thing is something I haven't felt or dealt with in many, many years. And the heat along with the stress of these visions is not helping anything. I feel like a real idiot and if it were up to me and I didn't have to join everyone for dinner, I'd go hide out in my tent for the rest of the night instead.

I rub the back of my neck in embarrassment, unable to meet her eyes. "Helga, I'm sorry...this whole thing...it was completely uncalled for. I don't really have an excuse, and I can't really explain it...but..." I trail off, not really knowing what to say.

She's silent for a moment, her laughter long gone. I feel like a verbal lashing is due any moment and I brace myself, but it doesn't come.

"Sandy mentioned that things have been…tense with you the last couple of weeks," she begins. "She says you've been stressed. I have to admit that I didn't really believe her, or Soren, but this...Arnold...it's kind of uncalled for." Her voice is surprisingly soft, but it seems to resonate deeper than if she had been yelling.

I look up at her, my shoulders slouching.

"It's true that I don't really know you that well anymore," she continues. "At least compared to everyone here. I knew you growing up, but not the man you've become—the man that you are now. But, regardless, I know that _this_ isn't you. Getting worked up over _flowers_. It's really worrisome."

I sigh, knowing she's right. But I still can't explain it. It doesn't even make sense to me. "I know. I think it's just everything. Besides earlier with my..." I don't finish and swallow the lump in my throat. "Besides the one earlier, I haven't had a vision since you left. I haven't been able to sleep and I'm completely on edge because of it. It's not an excuse for my behavior, but I am really, really sorry."

I watch her closely, a myriad of emotions rushing across her face and settling on an unsure frown. But then she smiles and takes my hand.

"Well," she says slowly, "maybe now that you've had a vision, and you've admitted to being a jerk, then you can move past it. I forgive you. But only this once," she gives me a long look and I can't help but smile back. "Next time, you're really going to be in the dog house."

I squeeze her hand and continue to smile. "It won't happen again."

"Darn tootin'! I'll slap you into shape if it does!"

A small chuckle escapes unexpectedly from me and I'm struck by just how much she's changed. From the bratty bully to this amazingly understanding woman. It makes me want to fall in love with her all over again.

Spying the flower still sitting on the log, I pick it up and slip it behind her ear without hesitation. "Thanks Helga. You're pretty amazing."

A soft pink dances over her cheeks and I grin wider, knowing that I'll never forget that look. "We should head back before they think you killed me."

She laughs and links her arm with mine, starting back. "And I'd never tell them where I hid the body."

Helga still has residual chuckles every once in a while as we approach the group, which makes me grin all over again. Glancing up as we approach the campfire I see Richard grimacing at us in confusion, Antoinette's eyes widen in shock, Eduardo scratching his head with a perplexed look on his face, Sandy smiling and nodding in approval, and Soren shoveling his dinner down his throat. The vast difference in their reactions makes Helga and I exchange glances before breaking into laughter again.

"What's going on?" Richard asks, elbowing Soren to get his attention. "I thought you guys were mad at each other."

"Eh, it's was just a silly disagreement," Helga says with a chuckle. "It's all good now, right, Arnold?"

"Yep," I reply, loving the cheerful smile on her face as she gazes back at me.

"Aw, well, like I've always said," Soren pipes up, his mouth still full of food, " _baseball_ does fix everything."

A resounding smack from Sandy echoes through the campsite followed by a choking sound from him and laughter from the group.

"Get some new material, you dingus," Helga laughs, sitting down in a chair by the fire and patting the seat next to her as she smiles at me.

Accepting the chair next to her, I feel a surge of warmth. She's _back_. She really came back. Maybe Sandy was right. Maybe I was worrying and being an idiot and a jerk for nothing. Maybe, even after my behavior today…just maybe, I really do have a chance.

* * *

"Sandy, you really are amazing," Richard compliments at the fire during breakfast—everyone except Helga present.

Sandy spins around and places her hand over her heart in surprise. "Wow, Richard, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"I think that's the _only_ nice thing you've ever said to her," I smirk, filling my glass with water. "What brought the compliment on?"

Richard finishes a bite before explaining. "Well, she's amazing because not only was she _willing_ to make us all eggs—she was willing to make them however we each wanted." The smile on his face is much too expressive for something so minor, but the guy is thrilled. "You're making Arnold's scrambled, Soren's got sunny-side up, Eduardo's got some form of _huevos rancheros_ , the kids have got fried, and mine's an omelet. I mean talk about going the extra mile!" A mammoth smile broadens his face and he snuggles back into his chair to finish his meal.

Sandy fairly beams back at him. You can tell she always feels most pleased when she makes other people happy, especially with her cooking. I'm glad everyone seems to appreciate that, she spends a lot of time cooking and we're lucky to have more to eat than beans out of a can.

The others go back to talking and I glance over to Sandy as she finishes up my eggs. "Hey, Sandy," I say quietly, watching her as she uses the spatula to turn the eggs over one last time.

"They're almost done," she replies, placing the spatula next to the pan.

"No, it's not about the eggs," I reply, feeling a little nervous suddenly.

"Oh, is something wrong?" she asks, tossing a dishtowel over her shoulder and turning to look at me.

"I'm just really sorry I was so awful to you guys the past couple weeks," I say sheepishly, as she watches me closely. "I know it's no excuse, but I think the heat and… _stuff_ was getting to me." I'm ready for another lecture, because it's the least I deserve.

"Look, Arnold," she begins, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving me a soft smile, "it definitely wasn't a pleasant experience, and I'd be happy to never have to deal with 'angsty Arnold' again, but we're all your friends. We're here for you whether it's good times or bad times." She nods to the others who are now listening and watching. "Everyone has a bad day or two."

"Yah, remember Richard didn't even get out of bed on time the first few weeks we were here. You lazy bum," Soren says, kicking Richard's chair leg and almost tipping him over.

"Hey!" Richard complains, a few pieces of egg flying out of his mouth with the words.

"And it took Sandy until yesterday to stop freaking out every time a bug would fly by her head," Soren adds, rolling his eyes.

"She's not over it yet," Richard comments casually. "While you were still in the tent she had a freak-out over a bee that landed on your egg."

"She almost beat it to death with the spatula," Antoinette adds with a chuckle.

"I'm not sure she washed the spatula after either," Richard says with a smirk. "You're basically eating bug guts right now, dude."

Soren narrows his eyes at Richard and then takes a huge bite. "Mmm!" Then mouth open, he exclaims, "oh! Oh! And remember how Antoinette wouldn't shut up about the humidity forever? She about drove me nuts with how many times a day she whined about it."

"Well, it's gross and sticky," Antoinette says, scrunching her nose up in disgust. "And besides, who are you to talk, Soren? Since we've been here you've been bitten by a piranha, attacked by a flock of parrots, stuck in a tree with a bunch of monkeys," she says, counting things off on her fingers.

"Not to mention the time you took the boys up to _Guadalupe Ridge_ ," Richard adds laughing, "and had to call us all on the SAT phone to rescue you because you'd managed to become entangled in a thicket of vines."

"Ooh, ooh!" Antoinette exclaims, laughing so hard she smacks her hand on Richard's knee a few times. "Remember when he—"

Soren's irritated groan interrupts her. "Okay, guys, you've made your point."

Sandy rolls her eyes and turns to me. "I think what we're all trying to say is that while we don't appreciate being treated poorly, we're your friends and we've already forgiven you." She hands me a plate of eggs, laid out in a smiley face. She winks at me and continues, "everyone has their imperfections. It's not like you blatantly went out of your way to hurt us. I hope you'll be aware in the future of how your temperament might be affected by—" she pauses and nods her head indicating that I should look behind me where Helga's heading towards the campfire. When I turn back, Sandy gives me a meaningful look and continues, "how you might be effected by certain _things_ , and maybe chill out a little next time."

I nod solemnly, and return her smile. "I will make sure and do that." I plop down into a chair, starving and ready to eat my breakfast.

"How do you want your eggs cooked, Helga?" Sandy calls as Helga pauses by the fire pit and stretches with a yawn.

"Scrambled would be awesome," Helga replies, pulling up a chair next to me.

I feel the corners of my mouth turn up into a smile and a little thrill run through me at the fact that she likes her eggs the same as me! It's meant to be! We're a perfect match!

Oh, geez, I'm such a dork. I can't believe I'm so excited over something so…dumb!

"So guys," Helga begins, the rather shamed tone to her voice such a stark contrast to the usual that I look up at her to see her cheeks pinking. "It turns out that when I got up this morning I realized I left my favorite camera lens in town. I need to go back and get it today."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Soren says with a mouth full of food.

"Oh, really? Are giant ants going to step on me or something?" Helga asks with a raised eyebrow.

Soren huffs. "It was _giants_ and _we're_ the ants. And that's not what I'm talking about. The town isn't safe right now."

"Oh, that's right," I say, trying to hold back a laugh. "It's not safe because of the lack of chickens," I tell Helga with a wink.

"Not to mention that _terrifying_ old woman you saw glaring at you," Antoinette mocks, waggling her eyebrows at him.

"You guys don't even know," Soren says, shaking his head. "If you had been paying more attention to what was going on around us and less attention on spending money at the market you would have noticed stuff too. I _know_ something bad is about to go down. When we picked up Helga, that group of boys kept following us and pointing."

"Soren, I was there for _weeks_ and nothing happened. Not even a _whisper_ of a something," Helga states, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "And they were pointing at you and talking about how freakishly tall you are."

"How do _you_ know that's what they were saying?" he asks her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Because I speak Spanish, _estupido_ ," Helga retorts, shaking her head mockingly.

" _Tu madre es una estupida_ ," Richard comments casually from across the way.

"And Richard takes the 'yo mamma' jokes to a new level," I grin, shaking my head.

"Regardless, that place is bad news right now," Soren says, ignoring their comments.

"Honey, it's going to be fine," Sandy says, handing Helga her breakfast. "Everything's going to be fine. I've got a really good vibe that we're safe."

"See? Sandy's vibe says it's cool," Helga replies with a triumphant smirk. "From what I hear that's almost a guarantee."

"Whatever," Soren replies, rolling his eyes.

"So, I was wondering if it's okay if I took the jeep this morning," Helga asks, giving Soren an over-exaggerated smile.

"I'm sorry, but unauthorized people do _not_ drive my jeep," Soren states. Standing up, he wags a disdainful finger at Helga. "Especially _people_ who insist on driving _over_ the speed limit."

"Hey, Goliath, we're in the flippin' _jungle_!" Helga exclaims, throwing her arms out. "There _is_ no speed limit! I thought we talked about this two weeks ago!"

Soren squints a glare at her. "There's _always_ a speed limit. It's called whatever's the safest speed for the current situation."

"You have to admit, honey," Sandy begins, putting a hand on his shoulder, "you do kind of drive like a grandma."

"I do _not_ drive like a grandma! Do you want to live a long, fulfilling life or not?" Soren asks, giving her a disappointed, rather dissatisfied grimace.

"Of course, babe," Sandy replies, reaching up to pat his shoulder comfortingly.

"You actually do drive slower than my grandma," Antoinette comments, bringing a chuckle from Richard. Soren just sneers at her and rolls his eyes.

"Of course you can use the jeep, Helga. Right, Arnold?" Sandy says, nodding at me vigorously and raising a meaningful eyebrow at me.

"Of course. I'd be happy to go with you," I add, hoping she'll accept the offer so I can spend some time with her.

"Sounds good, Football Head," Helga replies. "I'll even let you drive so 'Driving Miss Daisy' over there," she says, nodding toward Soren who's back to eating completely unaware of anything else, "doesn't have any more tantrums."

Then it hits me I should probably make sure no one else wants to come with us…just to make sure I don't look too eager to spend the alone time with Helga. "Anybody else want to join us?" I ask, immediately afraid of the face Sandy makes at me.

"Oh, Antoinette and I have to work on all those soil samples we collected the other day," Richard replies, washing his plate in the dishpan. "Besides we were just there yesterday."

"And I have to fix the generator," Eduardo says. "But have fun, _amigos_."

"What about you guys?" I ask, looking to Sandy and Soren, trying to ignore the wide-eyed, high-eyebrowed face Sandy's still making at me. She looks like she's gonna have a fit or something.

"Nah, I'm gonna be playing _baseball_ with Sandy," Soren replies, elbowing his wife in the side.

"No, you're not," Sandy replies, with a grin. "You're going to be washing all the dishes and watching the boys while I work on translating some of the hieroglyphs. I'm getting _way_ behind." She tosses him a dishtowel and smirks at him.

"And _then_ baseball, right?" he asks, slipping his arm around her shoulders seductively.

"Depends on how good of a job you do on the dishes," she teases, walking her fingers up his chest.

"Oh, they'll be the shiniest dishes you've ever seen, babe," he says, lowering his voice and wrapping his arms around her. She giggles as he leans forward to kiss her.

Clearing my throat, I turn back to Helga. "Guess it's just you and me." I can't hold back my excitement and a smile explodes across my face.

"Don't look so disappointed, Dr. Shortman," she laughs, elbowing me before taking another bite. "Mmm! These eggs are delicious, Sandy."

"Hmm-hmm," she replies, pulling away from Soren.

"Speaking of eggs," Soren says, sitting back in his chair and pulling her down to sit on his lap, "does anyone else think it's weird that we all just ate something that popped out of a chicken's butt?"

"Soren Hotchner!" Sandy exclaims, smacking him on the shoulder. "They're still eating!"

"What? It's true!" Soren states with a shrug. "I mean, what guy saw an egg pop out of a hen and thought, 'hmmm…I'm gonna go ahead and crack that thing and cook it over a fire and eat it'?"

"They probably ate it raw first," I state, leaning down to dump a rock out of my boot.

"Regardless of whether the cooked egg or raw egg came first," Soren begins, and I can't help but stifle a laugh. "I mean, seriously, who was the crazy guy who thought of _that_?"

"Probably one of your Neanderthal ancestors," Helga says, biting her lip in amusement.

"Probably your mamma's ancestor," Richard replies, with a regal look on his face.

"Thanks, Richard," Soren says, giving him a fist-bump.

"No problem, dude."

"How old you are you guys?" Antoinette asks with an eye roll.

Ignoring the rest of their conversation I turn to Helga and give her a smile. "I'm ready to leave whenever you want to go. This conversation isn't worth staying for."

"I'm good to go," she replies, braiding a small section of her hair and pinning it with a bobby-pin from her shirt pocket. "I'll grab my bag. Why don't you see if you can wrestle the keys from Gigantor over there," she jokes, gesturing toward Soren.

With a smile and a salute, I head over to grab the keys, very much looking forward to the long drive to town and back, with nothing, and nobody, to interrupt us.


	15. Secrets and Shadows

Chapter 14:

Pulling up to town in the jeep I can't help but feel overly ecstatic. The ride to town was amazing. Just quality time spent with the girl of my dreams! And this outing with her—alone—isn't even over yet!

The small town stands before us, shimmering heat already making mirages on the plowed dirt roads. The buildings are old and slightly run down, but so colorful and bright that the age doesn't seem matter. People are already up and about bustling around their daily tasks. Children laugh and run across the street as startled chickens scurry out of the way. Suddenly, I'm wishing I hadn't avoided coming here on so many occasions in the past.

"I hardly ever come into town," I admit, stepping out of the jeep and slipping the keys into my pocket. "In fact, I don't think I've been here since we first came to the area."

"Dude, you need to get out more!" Helga exclaims as I jog around to her side so I can open the door for her. "Thanks, Carey Grant," she says, stepping out of the car and stretching out her back. "Well, seeing as you're so unfamiliar with the town, allow me to be your official tour guide," she says with a cheesy smile. "I've become a bit of an expert—a regular Lewis and Clark, if you will," she says, taking my hat off my head and putting it on her own, pulling the brim down dramatically. "Without the Clark, of course. How about it? Would you like to be a William instead of a Carey?" She smirks, lowering my hat even more, her arm crossing her body and holding onto the brim with the tips of her fingers. I can't help the warmth that floods my body at how adorably alluring she looks. "Are you up for the challenge?" she asks, raising her eyebrows dramatically.

I grin, reaching out and flicking the brim of the hat up a little so I can see her eyes better. "Challenge accepted."

She laughs and leans back folding her arms across her chest. "A pop culture reference? I'm impressed." We start walking towards the town and she glances over at me. "I think you're actually a mix of the two. William Clark and Carey Grant. Adventurous, lots of charm, a dash of sexiness...yep, definitely a combo meal."

I stop and a nervous chuckle escapes my throat while a heated blush rises to my cheeks simultaneously. "Thanks," I manage to say, biting my lip.

She eyes me with a twinkle in her eye, before bumping her shoulder into mine playfully. "Come on. The other day the kids were telling me about this fountain or something that's been here since before the area was first settled by their ancestors. I wanna hurry to the hotel and get my lens and then find the kids so they can take us there."

I rub the back of my neck anxiously as I match step with her. "Don't you think we should probably go right back after getting your lens?"

"Sheesh, Dr. Shortman!" she says with an eye roll. "News flash: it's _okay_ to actually take a day off once every _century_ , you know."

I shrug and try not to seem offended. "I took the day off yesterday."

She huffs at me. "Believe it or not blacking out from horrific visions doesn't really count." She stops and turns to me, placing her hands on her hips. "You're kind of a hermit these days aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

She purses her lips in thought for a moment. "Well, I notice you kind of just sit back and watch everybody and don't say much." She starts walking down the street again, and I follow. "And when we're working you're always nose to the grindstone."

"I wouldn't say I'm _that_ uptight," I reply, blushing slightly. I feel like a huge, boring idiot that will never have a chance of catching the attention of someone as exciting as her.

"It's just kind of weird," she says, with a dismissive shrug. "I guess I still think you are exactly the same as you were when we were kids and so I still expect you to be exploring this town finding unique characters to help. You know, like Pigeon Man or Stoop Kid or something."

"Helga, I was _nine_. People change a lot as they get older."

"Well, it wasn't _just_ when you were nine. You did it some when you were older too. It was always just a huge part of who you were." She pauses thoughtfully before continuing, "but I guess, now that you mention it, in high school you started to kind of fly under the radar once you started to take all those college classes and electives."

"And so did you. You were in most of those classes with me," I remind her. "Wouldn't you think that's just a bit of maturity and responsibility taking over?"

"Yah, but I didn't become as introverted or even as focused as you," she replies, waving to someone in a window as we pass.

"Well, I don't know. It felt better working towards real, tangible goals," I explain.

I can remember the need to actually _do_ something. The need to feel like I had some kind of control over my life. Especially after giving up hope on my parents ever coming back alive. Focusing on concrete, guaranteed things, and working hard on schoolwork, and toward a career had made me feel like there was something in my life I could actually handle. Like there was something I could actually control. It gave me a purpose—a way to be successful instead of being just the orphan boy who was always obsessing over his parents disappearance.

"Besides," I add, interrupting the silence, "people stopped wanting help or advice. And then, I realized I didn't know everything. Who was I to give advice when I didn't even have experience in the things they wanted advice on?" I state while scrambling to dodge a chicken that runs in front of me.

"There's a reason people came to you, Arnold," she says, looking me in the eye, her blue eyes reflecting sincerity. "You made a huge difference for a lot of people. Remember in middle school when Mrs. Vitello had that cancer scare and you ran her flower shop for her for months?" When I shrug in response, she adds, "and then she offered to pay you for all your time and work. You refused, of course. And then you turned around and got the whole town to come together to pay for her medical bills," she exclaims, grabbing my shoulder. "I mean that was freaking amazing!"

"Eh, it was what anybody would have done," I reply, with a self-conscious shrug as she drops her hands.

"No, it's not! And that is only _one_ example of probably _hundreds_ ," she exclaims. "You were always so helpful and then you kind of just stopped one day."

"I just became a realist," I reply, still feeling that twinge of pain that had made me start focusing on myself more and less on others. "I realized I couldn't save everybody."

"No, I don't think that's it," she replies, looking me in the eye, "I think you just stopped believing in yourself."

I pause momentarily and she walks slowly ahead of me. Is she right? Did I stop believing in myself? I'd always thought of myself as this great realist—someone who, having accepted that my parents were never coming back, embraced the tragedy and imperfections of the world. Like I was someone who realized that helping people could be pointless—often times they didn't want my help even if I offered it. Or that my help made things worse for them. Or even worse, they didn't even care or appreciate the help.

But maybe I got so wrapped up in that kind of thinking…I stopped honing my innate, spiritual skills. I used to be so good at reading people, at feeling even their most hidden emotions and being able to help them work through them. I used to be so good at helping people become better people. Bringing out the shy person in a crowd, helping the depressed person feel hopeful and loved, teaching a bully to be kind, and helping an old man pursue his dreams. Things like that.

So maybe, Helga is right. Maybe I lost myself somewhere along the way.

I run to catch up with her just as we arrive at the hotel—a modest-looking place, white-washed with turquoise trim, wood banisters on the upper story and windows, and flowering vines sprawling all over the walls. The moment we walk into the little place the owner calls to us.

"¡Señorita _Helga!"_ The first thing I notice is the deep wrinkles around his eyes from years of smiling and happiness. His light colored shirt and hat contrast his tanned skin and salt and pepper hair nicely. _"¿Back so soon?"_ he asks her in Spanish, removing his hat in greeting.

" _I am_ ," she replies, also in Spanish, returning the hug he gives her. _"But I'm not here to stay, I'm afraid."_

"¿ _No? ¡Oh, so sad! We would have been happy to have you again_ ," he admits, places a friendly hand on her shoulder. _"And your friend would have been welcome too, of course."_ He turns his attention to me and holds out his hand, "Estuardo Reyes."

"Arnold Shortman," I greet him, shaking his hand firmly.

Helga turns to me and puts a friendly arm on my shoulder. _"Arnold is the head of the archeological team working on the Green Eye sights."_

" _¡Yes, yes, Arnold!"_ Estuardo says, his smile growing wider. _"I know all your friends. The tall one,_ Señor _…uh, Soren?"_

" _Yes,"_ I reply, already smiling trying to imagine what he could possibly be about to say.

 _"¡He eats so much! He loves my wife's cooking. I have never seen anything like it in all my days."_ Estuardo laughs boisterously, slapping a hand onto my shoulder. _"¡I think last time they came by he ate eight tamales! ¡Eight!"_

" _Yes, that sounds like our Soren,"_ I reply with a chuckle.

" _He is a good man. All of your friends are very nice,"_ he compliments, patting me on the shoulder. _**"**_ _¿If you two are not here to stay, what can I do for you? Señorita Helga did you just miss_ Estuardo _?"_

 _"Yes, very much."_ Helga chuckles and winks at him. _"But I also left my camera lens here yesterday. ¿Did you happen to find it?"_

Estuardo searches around the front desk for a moment before turning back to us and shrugging. _"I don't see it. One minute, please._ ¡Oye, Mariana!"he calls, turning towards another room.

"Mariana's his wife," Helga explains, slipping back into English. "She has this amazing garden out back. She grows all the food they use here and also sells some in the local market."

A small, plump woman dressed in bright colors comes out of the other room. Her dark hair is swept up in a soft bun, an apron tied around her waist, and jingling bracelets on her wrists.

She immediately wraps Helga into an embrace. "¡Helga! _¡It's so good to see you!"_ She gives her an air kiss by each ear, before stepping away, and places her hands on Helga's cheeks to gaze at her for a moment. _"Aw, as pretty as always."_ Then she turns her attention to me, a broad smile moving onto her lips. "¡Ay! _¡This must be the one you told me about,_ Helga _! ¡The handsome American archeologist!"_ She catches me off-guard, wrapping me in a tight and embrace. Finally pulling away she puts her hands onto my cheeks and gives me air kisses. _"His head—American football-shaped—just as you said! ¡Welcome,_ Arnold _! You are very handsome!"_ She pats my cheek softly and before I can even get a word in, she turns back to Helga, wrapping her arm tightly around me. _"¿Did you come only to introduce me to_ Arnold _?—not that I mind. ¡He is so handsome!"_ She winks over her shoulder at me flirtatiously, and I can feel my cheeks burning as she lets go of me again and moves to stand by her husband.

Estuardo puts a hand at the small of her back, smiling at her lovingly. _"_ Señorita _Helga wants to know if you found her camera lens,"_ he explains. _"I did not see it so I thought maybe you knew where it was."_

Mariana puts her hands to her face dramatically. _"¡Oh yes! I almost forgot. I put it away somewhere safe. I knew you'd be back for it. I'll get it for you."_ She walks over to a small curio-cabinet along one wall and reaches in, pulling out a camera lens. She carries it over with care before handing it back to Helga. _"Here you go. ¿Have you had breakfast yet? I just finished breakfast. There is plenty."_ She turns to me with a wink. _"Perhaps,_ Señor _Arnold would like to sit next to me."_

" _We actually had breakfast at camp before we left,"_ I reply. _"But, thank you."_

" _I'm going to go show Arnold around the town,"_ Helga says, reaching over and placing a hand on my arm. _"I think we'll come back later for some of your_ Empanadas de Leche _. I can't seem to get enough of those!"_

 _"¡Oh, gracias!"_ Mariana says, putting a hand to her cheek coyly. " _You are too kind."_

 _"Just honest,"_ Helga replies. "¡Adios!" Turning to me she pulls me along towards the door. "Come on," she says, slipping back into English. "We can stop at the little town market on our way to find that fountain. Every family in town sells something there."

Squinting in the sudden bright sunlight, I turn to her with a grin. "How do you know that?"

She shrugs as if it's not big deal. "Because I met every family in town."

"You what?" I exclaim in shock. Surely she's kidding.

She shrugs again. "There's only so many families in this little town. It's not that big a deal."

"Were you even working while you were here?" I tease, flicking the lip of the hat downwards, blocking her view. "Or were you just socializing?"

"Of course I was working," she replies, fixing the hat and lightly punching my arm. "I wrote a little interest piece while I was here on some of the families."

A big grin spreads across my face as she greets a few of the townspeople. I love seeing how charismatic Helga is as an adult. She's incredible! Everyone we've run into so far seems to know her well, and to really care about her. She's so different from the way she was as a kid. I mean, I'd always suspected she just hid a lot of who she was back in the day and used her tough exterior to protect herself, but even still—this is just incredible to watch. And seeing her care about others this way makes me love her all the more.

"That was Maria," Helga explains, leaving the booth she was at to join me on a rickety wooden bench under a tree. "I bought a skirt she made by hand. A beautifully flowy thing with lots of color. She's an amazing seamstress."

She sits next to me, and a breeze blows her loose blonde hair over until it tickles my face. Sunlight reflects off her white blouse, shining light up into her face making her eyes even more bright than usual. My fedora sits on her head, dramatically skewed to one side, giving her an enticingly mysterious aura, and serves to only emphasize her lips.

"You know, that hat looks pretty cute on you," I say, brazenly putting my hand on hers to get her attention. "I might have to let you keep it."

"I do look pretty cute in it, don't I?" she replies, not seeming to mind our hands touching slightly. "But the real question is: do I look cute enough for my date to buy me some _poporopo_?" she asks, leaning her face in closer to mine.

I bite my lip to hide the huge grin spreading across my face from her words. "Popcorn? You got it," I reply with a small nod of my head. "Lead the way."

"That's Santiago over there," she says, pointing across the street as she stands up. Her hand wraps around mine as she pulls me along with her. "His family grows the corn that you've been eating back at camp. They've been here for generations. They're descendent from Mayans. He sells fresh _poporopo_."

 _"¡_ Señorita _Helga! ¿You are back so soon?"_ Santiago greets in Spanish, as we approach. _"And you a brought a friend."_

 _"This is Arnold, I told him all about your delicious popcorn and he had to try some."_ She elbows me and I let go of her hand and reach into my pocket for money.

 _"Aw, well, I just popped this. It is very fresh,"_ Santiago says, gesturing to the pan of freshly popped corn near the fire pit.

" _Give us two large bags, if you would, Santiago,"_ I say with a smile as I hand him the price, plus extra.

 _"¡Thank you!"_ he smiles at us, carefully filling the bags. _"I hope you enjoy it, Helga and Arnold."_ Then his smile turns into a mischievous grin as he looks at me. _"¿You know what they say about popcorn, yes?"_

"Um… _no, what do that say_?" I ask, completely unaware of any popcorn related folklore.

Santiago removes his hat in somberness _. "Popcorn is the food of the Mayan god Chaac. Good for fertility,"_ he adds with a cheeky smile and a waggle of his eyebrows.

 _"¿Really?"_ I ask, stopping mid-chew to stare down awkwardly at the popcorn in my hand, a heated flush rising to my cheeks. _"I didn't know that."_

Helga erupts into laughter beside me and pushes me away playfully. "No, Andy Dwyer. Santiago's pulling your leg."

"On which part? The popcorn or the fertility thing?" I ask as we walk away, Helga laughing as Santiago's chuckles grow fainter behind us.

"Both. Neither thing is true," she says, still laughing, her blue eyes twinkling. "I mean _Chaac_ _is_ the Mayan god usually represented with fertility, but also a lot of other stuff." She bites her lip in amusement. "And popcorn is just popcorn."

"Oh." I take another bite of popcorn, trying to ignore the heat in my face. Why am I so gullible? Helga will only think I'm more for a fool now than ever. "So is Bruno Mars your favorite singer?" I ask, hoping to distract her from my foolishness.

Another warm laugh escapes her lips and she almost chokes on a piece of popcorn. "What?"

"That's the guy who sings ' _Uptown Funk',_ right?" I ask her, wanting to smack myself for looking like an idiot again already.

Understanding dawns on her face and she nods before throwing another handful of popcorn in her mouth. "Yes. But he isn't my favorite singer."

"Oh, well, who's your favorite then?" I move closer to her so our arms will bump as we walk.

She looks up at the sky thoughtfully for a second, then tosses a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it deftly in her mouth. "Impressive, right?" she says, with a teasing wink in my direction. "As for favorite music artist…I don't really have one." She moves her head back and forth as she purses her lips thoughtfully. "Or, more accurately, it changes by the week or even by the day." She flashes me an irresistible smile. "I guess you could say I have a bit of an eclectic taste in music."

"How so?" I ask, attempting to catch a popcorn piece in mouth the way she had. Instead it lands on my eye and bounces off, landing on the ground.

Helga bites her lip to hold back a laugh at my expense and I roll my eyes.

"I've got music I love from all genres and a variety of artists," she explains. "And I'll find a song I just love and I'll listen to it over and over again until I'm almost sick of it, then I move on to something else. I'm kind of already over 'Uptown Funk'."

"What?" I exclaim in surprise. "How am I supposed to keep up?"

"You aren't," she says, giving me a playful, sidelong glance. "That's what makes me so addictive, don't you think?" She waggles her eyebrows at me dramatically, a cheesy grin on her face.

"Among a hundred other things," I reply. My heart does a lively somersault at the way a smile spreads across her lips and her cheeks pink up. It's one of her prettiest smiles yet, and kind of makes me think of poetry, pink ribbons, and bright daisies. It's a smile I will never get tired of looking at. A smile I hope to see every day for a long time.

"You're a regular Rochester, aren't you?" she teases, hiding her grin with another handful of popcorn.

"What's your favorite song of the week this week?" I prob.

"Well, it's actually kind of a couple years old, but without easily accessible internet and radio, I've only just found it," she says, her eyes lighting up. "It's called 'Blame It On the Stars' by Andy Grammer. Whose music I've also fallen for, by the way. I don't know how I missed his stuff before."

Her face is happily animated, and I can't help but enjoy watching each emotion of her eyes, every expression of her eyebrows, and every movement of her lips.

"Anyway, the lyrics crack me up," she says, with a quirky little giggle. "I think my favorite line is: ' _I'm just a Sagittarius and we're kind of spontaneous so lets head out to Vegas and find an Elvis to marry us'"_ she sings in a rhythmic beat, before giggling again. "I don't know why, but I love that line and it just cracks me up every single time."

"I've got to hear this song when we get back," I say, loving every minute of her unadulterated amusement over the song.

"Yes, you do! First thing when we get back!" she exclaims, shoving her trash into her backpack and tossing her backpack to the side. "And, Arnold!" she exclaims, grabbing my shoulders dramatically and looking me in the eye. "It's got this sa-weet salsa beat!" she exclaims. Still holding my shoulder with one hand, she fans the other out dramatically as she does a few quick Latin-dance steps in front of me.

"Maybe I can finally make up for that dance I owe you," I laugh, reaching up I move her right hand from my shoulder, holding it in my own, and sliding my left hand onto her waist.

"If you're lucky," she teases, before quickly spinning herself out of my arms and grabbing her bag. "Come on, let's find that fountain already." She says, heading off in the opposite direction. "And I'm out of popcorn, so I'm gonna need some of yours."

I heave a disappointed sigh before following her. I wouldn't have minded dancing with her in my arms even if there was no music. A long silence falls between us until I spot a particular booth that stands out amongst the rest.

"Wow, look at these!" I say, approaching the booth. Laid out in all their splendor are intricately carved, wooden animals. Each individual, and pristinely carved, polished, and boasting beautiful shades of brown.

"Aw, yes. Alonzo is very talented. I've been meaning to get one of these," Helga says, picking up a sleekly carved panther and gazing at it.

"How about I buy one for you?" I say, looking down at all the choices.

"Oh, it's okay, I've got it," Helga says, reaching in her bag.

"Nope," I state, putting my hand on her arm to stop her from pulling her coin purse out. "That wasn't a request. I'm buying one for you. Whether you like it or not," I add with a teasing wink. "Go sit over there, I'll surprise you," I say, pointing to a bench under a tree nearby.

She purses her lips at me and gives me a playful glare before heading over. "I want you to know that I'm not sitting here because you told me to. I'm sitting here because it's really hot and this is a great place to cool off."

"Got it," I call back with a little chuckle.

Glancing down at the beautifully carved animals, I look for something that has meaning…something that in some small way reminds me of Helga. When I spot it, I grin to myself and pay the man before heading back to Helga.

Kneeling down in front of Helga I pull it out dramatically, going for a rather knightly presentation.

"What are you gonna propose to me with a little wooden animal?" Helga asks with a raised eyebrow, but amusement in her tone.

Cheeks burning I stand up and roll me eyes. "No, I was trying to be knightly or something. I don't know." I shake my head in exasperation. "Do you want your thing or not?" I ask, feigning annoyance.

"I would," she says, holding her hand out in a faux regal manner.

I place the wooden figure into her hand and wait for her reaction. Her brows knit together in confusion for a moment before she looks up at me with a raised eyebrow. "Why did you pick a lizard?" she questions, looking back down at it and stroking it with her finger.

"In honor of your monitor lizard who ate my parrot in fourth grade. It seemed fitting," I say with a lopsided smile and a shrug.

"You mean the lizard that ate _my_ parrot," she says, deadpan.

"Excuse me? It was my parrot that I brought for Show and Tell and your ridiculously sized monitor lizard ate it in one bite," I exclaim. "You know, that was pretty traumatizing for a nine year-old."

"Confession time," she says, taking a deep dramatic breath before standing up. " _Your_ parrot was actually _my_ parrot."

"What are you talking about?" I repeat, my brows knitting together in confusion. "I found him and no one came forward to claim him. So he was mine. In fact," I add, memory flooding back, "You even came to my house that day and I specifically asked you if you knew anyone who was missing a parrot…and you told me, no, and pretty much ran off."

"So I lied." She gives me a dismissive shrug and stars walking again. "I didn't want you to know he was mine…for obvious reasons," she mutters.

"What obvious reasons?" I ask. "That parrot was amazing! I still miss him sometimes."

"You didn't find his constant yammering irritating?" Helga asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"No, it was nice having someone around all the time," I reply, feeling a bit melancholy. "It was really yours?"

"Yep," she replies. "Long story short: my dad brought that blasted bird home one night. He thought it was hilarious and smart or some such malarkey, but by midnight when he was trying to watch 'Wheel of Fortune' he couldn't take all the repeating the bird was doing so he grabbed the cage and shoved it in my room while I was asleep."

So far it all sounds legit and very Big Bob Pataki, so it's easy to believe everything she's telling me.

"Anyway, I was, you know, writing poetry in my sleep and woke up to write it down," she explains, her cheeks turning pink again. "Bird heard me, bird remembered, bird kept repeating."

Realization dawns on me making my jaw drop. "Wait a minute, Helga, were you—"

She reaches over and smacks her hand over my mouth, moving her face close to mine. "Look, Football Head, this is embarrassing enough of a confession as it is, so let me get through it without interrupting me. _Capisce_?"

Biting back my laughter, I nod solemnly and she slowly removes her hand but eyes me suspiciously.

"Anyway, the damn bird kept repeating that blasted poem—which wasn't even that good, by the way! It was embarrassing and full of all my deepest secrets and I wasn't about to let anyone else hear it! So I went to the garage and looked through my dad's tools and I was going to…well… _dispose_ of the bird—"

"Helga! You weren't really going to kill him were you?" I cry, my eyes wide with shock.

" _Dude_! He was going to tell everyone my secret! Besides," she adds, waving me off, "he escaped and found you. What are the odds, I ask you?"

I can't even believe the story she it telling me. But it's so far-fetched, ridiculous, and so very nine year-old Helga that I know she can't be making it up. I can still remember that poem to this day. I always thought it was strange the parrot happened to know a poem about my name.

" _Someday, I'll tell the world, my love...Or my name's not…Helga G. Pataki!_ " I recite, finally finishing the poem after all these years, her face bright red. I shake my head at her and bite my lip in amusement. "That was _quite_ a poem, Helga."

"Ugh! Don't remind me," she says, smacking her face dramatically.

I chuckle softly. "Whatever happened to your lizard?"

"Eh," she says, palms up in a sign of indifference. "I tried to hide it in my closet for a while, but the stupid thing kept eating my shrin—" she cuts herself off, her eyes wide and startled suddenly "—kept eating my Shr..inky Dinks," she says slowly.

"You're _Shrinky Dinks_?" I'm not convinced.

"Yah, those little plastic things from back in the day that you colored and then baked and they'd shrink. Shrinky Dinks." She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me, haughtiness in her eyes.

"Fine, _Shrinky Dinks_ ," I reply, raising my eyebrows in mockingly.

"You better believe me, Shortman." She pushes me. "Anyway, when I got sick of the thing I left it in my dad's shower one night instead." She bursts into laughter, leaning over, holding my shoulder for support. "Hoo boy! That was one of my best pranks. Freaked him out so bad he came rushing out with soap all over him, his hair dripping wet, and nothing but a tiny hand towel out his waist."

I chuckle, her laughter contagious and the thought of Big Bob Pataki terrified by a monitor lizard pretty hilarious. "Did you get into trouble?"

"Almost," she replies, catching her breath, but leaving her hand on my shoulder. "But I told him that it probably came in through the window. I remember saying, 'Dad, didn't he _hear_ about the escaped lizard from the zoo?'" Somehow she manages to sound just like she did at nine, and it's almost like I'm there. "He totally bought it, hook, line, and sinker! The maroon!" she laughs. "He even tH edvaFDook it back to the zoo and tried to give it to them. They looked at him like he had baby lizards crawling out of his ears." She starts busting up with laughter again, this time putting her arm around me. I can't help but join in the giddy laughter, my heart fluttering in my chest with warmth at her nearness.

"Your poor dad," I breathe, when we finally stop laughing.

"Eh, he deserved it," she replies, sliding her arm from my shoulders—much to my chagrin. "The only reason I bought that monitor lizard was because of him and that blasted bird. So he kind of had it coming."

"¡Señora! ¡Señora!"

Turning around I see a scraggly band of adolescent boys running toward us. Dusty, and a few of them barefoot, it looks like they've already been up to mischief and fun today.

" _¡_ Señora, _you are back so soon!"_ the tallest of the group greets in Spanish, slightly out of breath.

" _Yes,_ Luis _,"_ Helga says with a huge smile. _"I had to come back for something I forgot. This is_ Señor _Arnold."_

They say their variety of greeting, a few of them just waving shyly.

" _This is_ Luis, Mario, Rufio, Juan _…"_ she starts spouting off their names so quickly I lose track after the first few. How she keeps track and remembers them all I'll never know—there's at least ten boys in the group. I'll have to find out what her trick is since remembering names that quickly has never been my forte.

" _¿Did you bring it? ¿Did you bring it?"_ Mario, who seems to be the smallest of the group, asks jumping up and down in a circle around us. He tugs on the bottom of Helga's shirt and stares up at her.

" _¿Did I bring what?"_ she asks him, scratching her head in confusion. _"I'm not sure what you are talking about,_ chico."

"¡Ay!" he exclaims, his hands flying to his face in despair. _"¡She forgot!"_

" _The other day when you were here and you were playing football with us, you told us that next time you came to town you would bring us a baseball,_ Señora _,"_ Luis explains with a somber frown on his face. _"And then you said you would teach us how to play."_

" _¿Did I?"_ she asks, placing a hand on her chest dramatically.

I bite my lip and hold back a knowing grin. For anyone who doesn't know Helga, they'd think she was serious. But I know her better than that.

" _¡Yes, you did,_ Señora _!"_ Mario cries again, looking so terribly distraught, I feel bad for him.

" _Well…"_ Helga begins slowly, _"it's a good thing I actually did remember!" Here you go!"_ she grins, whipping a baseball out of her bag and tossing it to Luis. I let out a chuckle as the boys glare playfully at her and make their comments in retort.

"What do you plan on using when you play with Ramses and Sawyer next time they ask?" I ask her in English.

"I always have extra baseballs so I can give them to kids when I travel. Gotta spread the joy that is America's greatest pastime."

"You carry extra baseballs?"

"Yep," she replies with a proud nod. "I have three left now. Pipsqueak lost one, this is four and I have three more back at camp. "Are you feeling enlightened now?."

"Yes, thanks. That was a veritable Encyclopedia of useful information," I mock playfully.

" _Now time to pay up, boys,"_ Helga says, turning back to face the boys as they toss the ball back and forth.

"You're making them pay for the ball?" I exclaim, shaking my head in disbelief.

She waves me off. "Psh. No. Of course not."

" _We don't know what you're talking about,_ Señora _,"_ Luis says, stepping forward with his hands on his hips and total attitude in his face.

" _Oh, yes, you do,_ muchacho, _"_ Helga says, staring him down. _"Take us to the fountain."_

"¡Aye! _¡Keep your voice down!"_ one of the boys says in a harsh whisper.

" _It's supposed to be a town secret,"_ another states, shaking his head. _"I can't believe you told her about it,"_ he adds glaring at Mario.

" _But she's so nice and her hair is like a pretty hibiscus flower,"_ Mario says, gazing up at Helga, a little lovesick smile on his face.

"Got yourself a number one fan there, eh?" I snicker into Helga's ear.

"Apparently," she laughs.

Turning to the boys I put on my best smile _. "We're practically residents already,"_ I say conspiratorially.

" _He's right,"_ Helga agrees, nodding solemnly.

" _¿An American archeologist and a journalist is a far stretch, don't you think?"_ Luis replies, raising a suspicious eyebrow at us.

"How does he know I'm an archeologist?" I ask her in English, wondering how much she told all the townspeople about me.

" _Luis knows everything,"_ she replies in Spanish, with an amused shrug. _"¿Isn't that right, Luis?"_

" _Yes,_ Señor _,"_ Luis says smiling at me proudly. _"I make it my business to know everything."_ The boy juts out his chin and nods at me aggressively. " _So I do not think that you are the_ almost _town members you claim to be."_

" _Well, I don't know about Helga_ ," I say, shooting her a sideways glance, _"but I've been living in the rainforest nearby for a long time and you are the closest town. All my food is purchased at your market and all my supplies orders from your post office. So, really, you could say I'm a resident of the town, ¿couldn't you, Helga?"_

" _Indeed you could, Arnold,"_ she replies, an amused smile on her face. _"And I've lived at his camp for a while, and then here in town the past few weeks, ¿haven't I? Surely that counts for something."_

" _Come on, Luis,"_ one of the boys whines. _"Let's take them already. I want to learn to play baseball."_

" _I don't know,"_ Luis says thoughtfully and the boys all groan loudly.

" _I'll show you,"_ Mario says, coming up and taking Helga's hand in his own.

"¡Aye!" Luis moans, putting an irritated hand to his head. _"Mario, you have to play it tough. Just because her hair is like the hibiscus flower doesn't mean you can take her wherever she wants."_

" _And her eyes are like the rare blue jade stone,"_ Mario says in a hushed, melodic way. Then he shakes his head and glances to Luis and shrugs. "Besides _I think you are being silly. I like the_ señora," Mario adds, smiling up at Helga with half-lidded eyes. Then he turns to me and grins. " _And this one has a funny head and it makes me laugh and laugh_ ," the little boy says, breaking into a fit of giggles. He grabs Helga's hands and begins pulling her along. _"Come on,_ Señora _! This way!"_

"¡Oye, Luis! _¿Are you coming?"_ one of the boys shouts back to Luis who remains put, arms crossed and an irritated scowl across his face. The expression reminds me so much of nine year-old Helga that I bust out in laughter.

"Don't laugh at the poor kid," Helga chides.

"I'm not laughing _at_ him," I reply, still chuckling. "Look at him and tell me you don't see yourself in that scowl."

She turns to glance over her shoulder, and I watch as the realization warms her eyes and she giggles softly. "I'd be a liar if I didn't agree." She lifts a hand to her mouth and shouts in Spanish, "¡Oye! ¡Luis! _¡Come with us! ¡It won't be the same without you!"_

His frown deepens as he watches us, making a thick line across his forehead and an all too familiar unibrow—it's too much and I chuckle again.

Luis kicks a rock dejectedly and finally starts walking toward us. _"Okay, okay, I'm coming. But only so I can make sure you guys don't lose the new baseball."_

Helga and I exchange knowing looks and continue following Mario as he pulls us along to the far end of town and on past it a way as she explains how to play baseball. The boys listen excitedly and throw out questions, talking over each other and making us both laugh.

A cliff juts out of the canyon side, hanging over the outskirts of the cleared land, and looms like a sentential or something. Thick vines wind up and down the walls in every direction, twisting and turning in a thick mass. Mario lets go of Helga's hand and steps forward, pushing some of the vines aside before stepping behind them.

We follow him through the dense foliage and come out into a huge stone room, carved out of the cliffs' very stone. In the center of the room is a large rectangular pool was cut into the floor, steps leading down into the pool on the three opposite sides. Murky water drizzling out cracks the far wall and trickling into a shallow puddle in the bottom. The room is dim except for in the center where a large, once circular opening had been cut to let in light, ringing the center of the room with light. Jungle plants growing down from the cliff above, drape themselves through the opening, casting a variety of shadows on the wall. In the upper corners along the wall, faded, eroded remnants of carvings remain hidden the shadowed darkness. Around the edge of the pool only crumbling remnants of pillars remained, their broken pieces littering the ground as well as leaf litter and plant growth. In the center of the pool a large heap of eroded stone stands solemnly in its disintegration.

"Wow, this is remarkable!" I gasp, turning slowly and trying to take it all in. "It's entirely indiscernible from outside. I bet it was beautiful in its prime," I breathe, imagining the limestone walls freshly polished and intricate designs carved into them, painted in bright colors.

" _Eh, it is all right,"_ Luis says with an impudent eye roll as he kicks a pieces of crumbling stone. _"Can we play baseball now?"_

" _Oh,_ Luis _,"_ Helga chuckles, placing a hand on her hip as she shakes her head chidingly at him. _"You boys go play and we'll catch up to you in a little while. Then Arnold and I will correct you if you're wrong_

" _All right, come on,"_ Luis says, gesturing over his shoulder for the others to follow him. "¡Adios!"

" _¡Adios!_ _Now don't go losing that ball!"_ Helga calls out after their retreating figures.

"Adios _,_ Señora _Flower,"_ Mario says with a cheeky grin and flushed cheeks before, turning and running after the rest of the boys.

"You just gain admirers everywhere you go, don't you?" I ask, glancing sideways at her and shooting her a playful grin.

"All the wrong ones it would seem," she says quietly before walking toward the center edge of the pool. "Pretty neat place, huh?" she says, turning around in a circle with her arms extended as she looks up at the massive ceiling.

"So what _is_ this place?" I ask, taking a step toward her, hoping to close the gap between us.

"From what the boys told me it's a fountain with a pool—perhaps some kind of ancient bath or something," she says, looking around slowly. Pointing down to the center of the deep floor with the crumbling heap she adds, "see that's what's left of the actual fountain. Luis said that hot springs nearby feed into this pool. When his great-grandfather was a kid, the pool used to fill up all the way. The town's teenagers used to come down and hang out and…" she trails off awkwardly.

"And play _baseball_?" I ask with a laugh, moving to stand next to her and gazing down into the bottom of the pool where shallow murky water sits The sound of a toad echoes off the walls before it hops to a dark corner.

"Something like that," she chuckles with a little shake of her head. "There was an earthquake at one point and after that the pool stopped filling up. Luis said his dad figures the earthquake caused part of the water tunnels to break or clog. So now all that's left is a little trickle."

"So, I guess _baseball_ ' _s_ out of the question," I tease, with a sad puppy-dog expression.

Helga laughs softly. "You're getting as bad as Soren," she teases, her blue eyes sparkling with entertainment.

"Eh, it's probably due to osmosis or something," I say with a lopsided grin. "Or maybe it's contagious."

"Ew! You make him sound like some kind of disease," she says, smacking my arm playfully.

"If the shoe fits," I reply leaning closer raising my eyebrows dramatically. Pulling back again, I shove my hands into my pockets and give her a sassy grin.

"You're terrible!" she chides, bumping her shoulder into mine as she bites her lip to hold back a laugh.

My eyes naturally lower, watching as straight, pearly whites nibble on her lips. Not for the first time, I wonder what they taste like before she points to a wall behind me, effectively breaking the trance and I turn to look. "Check out all that graffiti."

Turning around it takes me a minute to focus on the wall because she's stepped closer to me and is standing right behind me with her chin on my shoulder. "Kind of paradoxically beautiful isn't it?" she asks quietly, her voice sending the hairs along my neck to stand on end.

I swallow the excess moisture forming in my mouth and close my eyes briefly, before trying my best to focus on the wall ahead of me instead of her face next to mine. A tall wall looms before us covered in thousands of signatures and words—all different colors and mediums, some fresh and new, others faded and old, and still others even older.

She lifts her chin off my shoulder and brushes past me gently, moving to stand right in front of the wall. "But it's kind of sad that people feel the need to be so destructive to an amazing piece of history like this," Helga says, reaching out to run her fingers over the words on the wall.

"It is," I reply thoughtfully, moving to stand next to her. "And then again, it isn't in a way."

"What do you mean?" she asks, looking over at me curiously.

"I mean it's sad because whatever was left of the original structure and any ancient writing is buried beneath the graffiti—or destroyed by it," I begin, leaning closer to get a better look, "which, of course, is horrible. But it's also another level of history." I glance at her and notice she only looks more puzzled. So I continue, "I mean you can tell some of this graffiti is actually ancient too—at least hundreds and hundred years old. Obviously not as old as this place is," I add, "but still very old. It reminds me of the petroglyphs in New Mexico I visited once during an internship."

"Aw, ancient rock carvings—always exciting, but," she begins, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "So how does this heinous graffiti remind you of petroglyphs?"

"Near Albuquerque these petroglyphs we were studying were created by ancestral Pueblo people some 400 to 700 years ago," I clarify. "Then later early Spanish explorers and settlers made their own petroglyphs. These were images of crosses, Catholic symbols, and things like that. This was more recent than the ancient Pueblo ancestors, but still old. So, two eras of history 'graffiti' in one place, right on top of each other. Even though the Spaniards, in fact, were writing all over the ancient work, their graffiti is now history as well," I finish, glancing back to the wall in front of us.

"So your point is…wait long enough and everything because of interest to the archeology community," she states, her tone lined with amusement.

"Pretty much," I reply, nodding. "I have mixed feelings about the graffiti in this case," I add with a grimace, as I see a rather vulgar word written amongst the signatures.

Stepping closer, I continue examining the wall and its layers of limestone, worn away by hundreds of years of moisture and plant growth. I try to look beyond the graffiti, hoping to see a sign from whomever built this place and whatever it's purpose once was. One carving catches my eye and I pause, squinting to see better, dust and cobwebs covering it in a thick layer.

"If I didn't know better," I begin, gesturing for Helga to come look, "I'd think this was a Green Eye symbol." I reach forward to brush away the grime, hoping to know for sure.

"Arnold, wait," she says, her voice sounding slightly concerned. "Maybe you—"

But Helga's voice begins to fade…almost like she's walking down a deep tunnel, and suddenly the room is so bright it's almost blinding. I try to look around to see what's going on, but I can't see anything, and instead shield my eyes. A rushing sound like water fills my ears and the strong smell of copal incense overwhelms me.

At first I'm confused, and then as realization hits me, I just accept whatever I'm about to see.


	16. Unexpected Disasters

Chapter 15:

 _I dust away the web that a spider made on the sacred, green Wahje symbol. Placing my palm on it, I rest my head against the wall. "Homage to thee, O mother, Mut-Wahje," I pray, touching my forehead with my other hand and closing my eyes. "Have mercy on thy people."_

 _Pulling my hand away, I walk across the limestone floors, polished so meticulously that they gleam like water and reflect the light from the torches along the walls. I breathe in deeply, the baskets of flowers and plants perfuming the air sweetly, soothing my beset soul, if only for a moment. I reach the pool in the center of the room and gaze down. Clear water shimmers in the dim light, blooms of colorful water lilies float on top, and tinkling water spill from the fountain in the center—sounding almost like whispers of secrets it only just witnessed. Morning Glory vines wind their way up the back wall, reaching for the sun that during the day would shine down through the circular opening of the ceiling. Only brightly gleaming stars and the ever-watchful moon looks down now._

 _I pull on the stone blocking the flow of water, allowing warm water to flow freely into the basin of the bath. The water level must be just so. Closing my eyes, I twist the silver bangle on my wrist nervously trying to let the soothing sounds of the running water calm my anxious heart and mind._

 _Never did I expect to be High Priestess at such a young age. A few years ago the very idea that I would ever be High Priestess seemed unlikely. But after years of war amongst our people left us with such a small population, the duties of High Priestess had fallen to me. Moreover, with The Evil One finally moved on to the Shadow Realm, I must see to it that his evil never returns to hurt our people. It's a heavy responsibility for me when I lack the necessary experience and knowledge to be in such an important role. I doubt myself, but I know that I cannot. For if I do, then I will never succeed in giving my people the help they so badly need._

" _Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje."_

 _I turn swiftly, my heart pounding furiously with sudden trepidation, almost tripping over a basket as I step backward. Placing a hand to my heart, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Scribe Khamwazet leaning one shoulder against a column at the entrance as he gazes at me with smoldering, half-lidded eyes._

" _Aw, it is only thou," I say, holding back the pleased smile that is tickling beneath my lips at the sight of him._

 _He watches me with his kohl-lined eyes. The taunt muscles of his arms and chest gleam in the light from the torches. He is most strong for a scribe—nothing like the scribes in the temples. The gold of his wristbands and beaded_ weskhet _glisten—the jade beads complimenting the deep blue sash around his waist and white kilt._

 _I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips as he pushes off the wall and strides confidently toward me, the brawny muscles emphasized again by the shadows and lights around us._

" _Is it not a little late for a visit to the baths?" he asks, stopping only a few inches from me, his voice soft and low. His green eyes aflame with a mesmerizing mischief send a shiver racing down my spine._

" _There will be ceremonial cleansing baths at dawn," I reply, heat rising to my cheeks at his nearness. "I thought to prepare them tonight so they will be ready by morning."_

" _Hmm… thou hast forgotten," he replies. His voice resonates disappointment, but the teasing smile remains on his lips._

 _"Forgotten?" I repeat, confused. I search my mind, but cannot remember anything. "What is it that I have forgotten?"_

 _He clicks his tongue chidingly and shakes his head, moving even closer. "Aw, sweet Ankhesen-Wahje, thou art breaking my heart."_

 _"Khamwazet," I say, nervously and glance away, "we spoke of this. These dark times are not right for pursuing things of the heart."_

 _My heart aches. Every fiber within me longs to move beyond these evil things and focus once more on that which would bring joy to my heart. Alas, everything has not been righted completely yet. My eyes catch the glint of the fountain in the center of the pool—a gleaming reminder of the heavy responsibility that has been laid upon my shoulders._

 _Khamwazet's hand slides beneath my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his once more. "My heart desires what it desires, Ankhesen-Wahje." He glances at my lips for a second before looking back into my eyes. "It cares not if these are troubled times."_

 _"Khamwazet," I breathe, "thou art familiar with the prophecy. I must do my part to protect our people for as long as possible. 'Tis in my hands. I cannot become distracted."_

 _"May Natur-Wahje bless thee in thy calling, darling," he prays, as his arms slip around my waist, pulling me against him. "But if I must wait, then I ask for one taste," he whispers his lips only a breath away, "to aid me through this evil, painful drought. Grant me that I might taste of thy lips just once, love."_

 _In that moment, nothing else seems of significance. My heart races blissfully, heat searing through me, and I want nothing more than his lips to meet mine. His eyes close and he leans forward, our breath mingling between us. I feel my eyes close as well, breathing in the scent of him._

"Arnold."

 _I pull away from him before the distance can close, my eyes probing the darkness. "Didst thou hear something?" I exclaim, throwing my arms around his waist as sudden fear consumes me._

 _He chuckles softly into my hair. "It was only the wind, Priestess. I will relight the lamps for thee if thou wishes me to do so."_

 _"No," I reply, ignoring the quiver to my voice as I pull away again. "Let us leave instead. The baths will be fine. They are built to stop filling when full."_

"Arnold?"

 _I gasp and grab his hand pulling him toward the exit. "Now! Let us go now, Khamwazet! Please!"_

" _All is right, my love. I will take thee home," he says, his voice calm and soothing, as he slips an arm around me. "Thou knowest thou art safe with me, yes?" He gazes down at me, those kohl-lined eyes so warm and soothing._

 _I pause captivated once more. Nevertheless, as much as I wish it were true, I know it is not. "No one is safe while evil but sleeps."_

"Arnold?"

 _Swirling mist fills my mind until I cannot see anything—blocking my thoughts as well. I feel faint—as if any moment I will collapse into an endless fog. All I can hear is an incessant voice repeating, "Arnold…Arnold…Arnold…"_

 _An insistent urge pushes me on and I grasp at the corners of my mind trying to find wherever it is I should go. I can no longer seem to find it. Who am I? And where is it I am trapped?_

 _The mists and darkness swirl around me, my heartbeat pounding in my ears so loudly I reach up to cover my ears but something grabs me instead._

"Arnold, snap out of it! Answer me!"

It takes me a moment to put two and two together, but when I do I jerk upwards, shocked to see Helga hovering in front of me. Her brows are furrowed with concern and her hands feel so cool against the heat of my face.

"It happened again," she states, staring into my eyes.

"Yes. But it wasn't like the last ones," I say, my voice strangely weak. I massage my temples where a slight ache has taken up residence. "It wasn't dark or frightening. It was that high priestess again."

"The priestess from the temple?"

"Yes. And the scribe was there again also." I glance over toward to fountain, momentarily shocked to see it in its desolate state after only seconds ago seeing it polished and new. "They were here—when it was new," I continue, a cold sweat forming on my forehead. "And it was almost as if the priestess heard you saying my name. As if she sensed our presence. And it frightened her and she wanted to leave."

"Maybe it wasn't you she sensed," Helga replies, thoughtfully. "Maybe—if you had seen more—it would have been something or _someone_ else." She glances around the room as if she too can see them if she tries. "I hope they're okay."

I shake my head slowly. "Helga, this was hundreds of years ago…I'm pretty sure they're dead either way."

She looks back to me with a lopsided smile and a raised eyebrow. "Har har. At least it's good to see you've still got your sense of humor this time."

"This place was built by the Green Eyes," I state, moving towards the pool, still seeing it polished and shiny, the water lilies bopping along the clear water.

"Another place to add to your endless list of sites to excavate?" she asks, coming to stand next to me.

"I guess so. Proving it will be a whole other thing, however," I say, frowning. "I mean, I still haven't seen clear evidence _now_ of their presence. All I have to go on is a daydream."

"Vision," she corrects with a crooked smile. "But, I see your point." She glances up through the hole in the ceiling at the late afternoon sky. "Look, you were out of it for quite a while, and we should probably head back to Luis and the boys before they come looking for us. Besides, I have to show them how to really play ball."

I groan rubbing my head again. "Helga, it's so hot out there. Why would you promise something like that?"

"A promise is a promise." She shoots me a smirk. "When did you become such a wimp?"

"Since when did you become so loyal?" I tease.

"I've always been loyal, Football Head," she replies with a sassy shake of her shoulders. "If only you knew the lengths I've gone in my life thanks to my sense of loyalty," she says, poking her finger boisterously into my chest, before turning and heading toward the exit.

"Care to share?" I ask, stepping out into the hazy afternoon sunshine.

"Where should I start?" she chuckles. "Maybe the time I spent an entire day chasing down your hat?"

"You spent an entire day chasing down my hat?" I ask, suddenly feeling awe-struck at the dedication that would take.

"Sure. You didn't think I just randomly found your hat that day did you?" she asks, looking sideways at me. "That would have been some serious coincidence."

I shrug lamely. "I guess I never thought about it. Thanks."

A comfortable silence spreads between us as we near the town's outer buildings.

"Okay, so guess my favorite movie," I say, breaking the silence.

"Oh, I will, Football Head," she retorts, the sassiness in her voice making me grin in pleasure. "And I'll do it in less than _two_ questions."

"Don't you think that's a little cocky, Helga?" I ask with a chuckle.

"No one ever said Helga G. Pataki wasn't cocky," she replies matter-of-factly. "First question, is it Adventure?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "Yes."

" _The Mummy_ ," she states, dusting her hands together as if she's just finished some dramatic task.

My mouth falls open in astonishment, and I can't find words. Finally, shaking my head, I exclaim, "How'd you know?"

She rolls her eyes and waves me off. "You haven't changed in your predictability, hair boy."

I grimace in disappointment. "Ugh. I don't want to be predictable."

"Why not?" she asks, our arms brushing against each other slightly, sending chills up and down my own arm.

"Being predictable is boring. Who wants to stick around someone who's so predictable?" I explain, kicking a rock dejectedly.

"Someone who wants something steady and reliable," she replies, peering into my down-turned face.

"Maybe. But don't you think it would eventually get boring?"

She stops and puts her hands on her hips, turning to face me. "Arnold, you aren't boring," she states, looking me straight in the eyes. "Predictable doesn't mean boring. A boring person wouldn't be living out in the middle of a rainforest working on ancient ruins. Boring is someone who doesn't want to try new things and literally lives for doing the same thing day in and day out." She shoots me a smile and then starts walking again. "Some level of predictability can be nice. Look at it this way: you're like...Christmas."

"Christmas?" I ask when I can finally stop laughing.

She grins at me. "Yeah. Predictable and exciting, but never boring."

"So is it bad that my favorite movie is _The Mummy_?"

She shakes her head as she laughs. "No, of course not, you dorkwad. That's a great movie! It's got everything a person could ask for. Lots of action, a little romance, comedy, and supernatural awesomeness," she clarifies. "Not to mention the fact that that's literally the _only_ movie that Brendan Frasier is attractive in. Otherwise, he kind of grosses me out."

I can't help but put a hand on her shoulder to steady myself as I double over with laughter. I don't know why hearing Helga refer to Brendan Frasier as gross makes me laugh so hard, but it does.

Her laughter joins mine. "What? It's true!" she says, breathless through her laughter.

"Something about the way you said it, I guess," I reply, when I can finally stop laughing. "So, what about you? Do you have a favorite movie?"

"Arnold _, my sultry preteen_ ," she teases, shooting me a wink, "my movie taste is as eclectic as my music taste. You may be predictable, but I'm an insane schizoid who never likes the same thing for long."

"Helga, you are anything but insane," I chide softly. "Your varied interests are what make you so interesting. You're smart, witty...intelligent. And compassionate. You always have been. I know you were always trying to hide it growing up, but now you've finally grown into yourself. And there's not anything crazy about you."

"Meh, you're just saying that," she counters, pushing me away playfully.

I give her an unimpressed look. "I don't just say things, Helga. You should know that by now. You've been accepted into this town in just _two_ weeks. You know everyone, they know you, and they _like_ you. They're drawn to your passion. Don't you realize how amazing that is? How amazing you are?"

She blushes and shakes her head, finally saying, "now I think _you're_ the insane one."

"Maybe, but I'm right. It's true," I reply. "You are pretty amazing. You've traveled so much of the world, all on your own. Seen things most people can never even dream of. I'm sure you're never afraid to try something new. You're a top journalist for _National Geographic_. You speak at least three languages that I know of—"

"Four," she corrects, her cheeks even redder than before.

I stare at her impressed. "Okay, you speak _four_ languages. You've gotten an entire town to fall in love with you, just by being yourself."

 _Basically, everything about you is why I can't stop thinking about you_. But I keep that to myself as I watch her, silently thinking. I can tell she's struggling with emotions and knowing what to say as I watch her face closely.

Finally she stops walking and turns to me with a smile. "You always were a sweet kid, Football Head. I'm glad that adulthood hasn't changed that."

She pulls my hat off her head and reaches out with her other hand, running her fingers through my hair, pushing back a stubborn lock of hair, before placing the hat on my head. Smiling softly up at me, her blue eyes sparkle as she adjusts the hat until it's just right. The scent of her fills my senses, and the smile fades from my lips as she finishes with the hat and smiles at me again.

A brief flicker of concern crosses her face and she takes a step back. "Are you okay?" she asks.

My breath catches in my throat, stopping any words. But I step forward closing the gap between us once more. My mouth twitches and suddenly all I can think about is kissing her, my eyes dropping to look at her lips.

"Arnold, I—"

"Señora _, it is about time you get back!"_

Gasping in surprise, we both turn to see Luis standing beside us, glaring up at us and stomping a foot.

" _¡Look at the sky! It is starting to turn pink already. It will be dark soon! ¡Hurry, hurry!"_

While we play baseball with the group of boys, the sun continues to sink slowly in the sky. I can't help but feel a little guilty that my team back at the dig has worked hard all day and I haven't. Especially after the way I treated them during Helga's absence. My emotions took over me, but that's no excuse. No one deserves to be belittled that way. But Helga's departure, no matter how temporary, had set a string of emotions loose in me that stretched all the way to my core. And for some reason I couldn't seem to control them.

"Heads up, Arnold!" Helga yells, drawing my attention back to the game, just in time to catch the ball coming my way.

Catching it I toss it to Mario before glancing back at Helga. The slight breeze blows her hair gently, her contagious smile glows with contentment as she calls out directions to the boys. In Helga, today, I've found a seedling of healing in my heart. For every moment I'm with her, my heart hurts a little bit less and I feel a little more whole.

A thunderous noise claps across the sky, reverberating against the canyon's cliffs and echoing back to us again. A flock of startled birds flutter nervously out of a nearby field.

I glance to the sky, thinking a storm has rolled in while we've been playing, and the sound we heard was thunder. But then it faded and the dusky sky is still perfectly clear. Helga and I look at each other and exchange anxious glances.

"Was that a—" I begin, but my words are silenced by the same sound again, followed by a woman's scream.

Cold fear leaps to my heart the moment I realize what that sound is—a gunshot. I race toward a pale-faced Helga, gesturing for the boys to come to us. Without a moment of hesitation they obey and huddle around us. Their panicked and confused faces stare up at us expectantly. A feeling of intense dread flutters in my stomach as I look back up and meet Helga's eyes, wide and intense with alarm.

Shouting erupts—voices loud and angry. It's coming from the center of town. Doors slam, loud crashes resound through the valley, angry uproar and other sounds of destruction are the only things we hear. A cold sweat starts down my neck. Something is terribly wrong. After another loud crash the boys scatter, racing different directions, shouting things to each other as they speed away to hide. I try to grab for them to stop them, but they're too fast.

"Wait! Stop!" I call, immediately worried for their safety. Helga grabs my hand, pulling me roughly to the side of the nearest building.

"Maybe we should go after the boys," I say in a hushed voice, our backs pressed tightly against the wall, hands still tightly entwined. My heart clenches with concern over them. Glancing around the corner I see Mario dodging between buildings a little too close to the commotion. "Mario's right there."

"No, they will be fine," she replies, moving her mouth near my ear. "They're smart. They will know where to hide."

I peak around the corner again trying to get a view of what's going on, my heartbeat ringing in my ears.

"Can you see anything?" Helga asks, gripping my hand tightly.

My eyes strain against the fading daylight, but I can't see anything discernable; just shadows against a distant building. "No. This way," I say, leading her along with me as I dart between a few more buildings. Coming upon a dark, hidden alley I stop and lay my head back against the wall. I try to calm my haggard breathing, my breath sharp in my ribs. Finally, I look past the alley and down the street.

Chaos. Townspeople running around frantically and terrified. A mob-like group of men seem to be ordering people around, making demands. Another man pushes a woman down as he passes. Men are brawling in the streets. Someone throws a rock and shatters a window. I spot a few men with guns and other weapons, stomping around, shouting angrily.

Terror grips my heart—my chest so tight I can hardly breath. We don't stand a chance of escaping. Not with all those men out there.

"Do you know those people?" I ask her, finally glancing behind me to see her eyes wide as she watches the destruction from over my shoulder.

"No. They aren't from town. I've never seen them before," she whispers, between pants for breath. "I hate to say it…but I think Soren was right!"

I grimace and look back at her. "We have to get out of here," I breathe, cringing at the sound of glass shattering again. "We have to make it to the Jeep." My thoughts jump back and forth between possibilities. Finally settling on a plan, I squeeze her hand and pull her closer so she can hear me. "Stay close to me," I assert, before heading down the alleyway.

We hide in the shadows, dodging from building to building, trying desperately to stay out of sight. The scent of gunpowder is beginning to make my eyes water. The rioting only seems to get worse—and much louder. The sun has set now, twilight upon us, dimmed street lights the only light leading us through the town. Every nerve is on edge as I strain to listen for footsteps behind us, glancing nervously in every direction as we tiptoe around buildings.

We pause, panting from the exertion. My feet are throbbing painfully, the soles protesting from our panicked run. I lean back against the building. A few yards away I can see the last of the buildings. We're closer to the edge of town, but not close enough.

A door unexpectedly flings open in front of us. A large hand reaches out and grabs Helga's arm. Terror grips my heart as I reach out to help her. She is yanked into the building, and another arm reaches out and grabs me, pulling me painfully inside.

I spin around ready to face our attackers. I almost laugh with relief when I see it's only Estuardo and Mariana.

" _¡You two must leave!"_ Mariana states in a no-nonsense voice.

" _Go out back,"_ Estuardo explains, not wasting any time, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with concern. _"You can hide along the back wall. You should be able to make it to your vehicle."_

I step toward the window, and pulling aside the curtains . _"But—"_ I begin.

" _No,"_ he says, placing a hand on my arm to get my attention. _"You must stay safe. You must go."_

I shake my head in frustration, sweat tripping from my brow. Glancing out the window, I make sure to remain out of view of the street. A few streets over I can see flames rising high into the night air. Both anger and trepidation wash over me, and slam a fist against the wall. The pain is not unwelcome.

" _Who are these people?"_ Helga asks, joining me at the window. The reflection of the flames shimmering in her eyes.

" _We can't just leave!"_ I exclaim, turning around and crossing my arms as I face the couple. _"We'll stay and help!"_

 _"No, you will not,"_ Mariana orders, shoving us through the room toward the back door. _"We'll be fine. You must go. I will not have you getting hurt in this mess."_

Mariana continues pushing toward the door despite our protests. Helga finally gives up and steps out the door.

 _"Fine,"_ I say, stopping at the threshold to look Mariana in the eye. _"We'll go, but if anything happens to the two of you—"_

 _"Nothing will happen to us,"_ she states matter-of-factly. _"Now will you please go, my handsome_ señor _?"_

I shake my head and press my lips into a hard line before stepping out the door. I grab the door handle and pull the door closed, turning to—

 _I speed walk with the rest of the men, all intent on our mission. Our boots leaving tracks in the soil as we come upon the town._

 _"Is it time?" I ask, watching as he raises his hand and stares into the distance at the small town before us._

 _"Yes," he replies and reaches for his waist. He pulls out a pistol and cocks it before turning to look at me. "It's time."_

 _"And we can do anything we want, right?" I ask, anticipation boiling in my veins._

 _"I believe you know the answer to that," he answers, pulling down his bandana to reveal a devilish grin taking over his face before quickly turning away again. "In the name of La Sombra!" he shouts, raising his pistol in the air._

 _"La Sombra!" we all yell before, jumping over the log and racing into the town, weapons drawn, ready to play._

"Arnold, come on!"

I gasp in both pain and shock. Was that… _Richard_? Richard leading the group of men in the name of La Sombra? It couldn't possibly be, but that short glimpse of his face, however shadowed, was uncanny.

"What?" I breathe in shock, yanking my hand away from the doorknob and staring at it in misery. "What?" My voice is barely a whisper.

Helga grabs my hand and tugs on it roughly. "Come on, Arnold. What is wrong with you? There's nothing we can do. We've got to get to the Jeep before we miss our chance."

Shoving back what I just saw in my mind, I race after her. Her hand clings to me as if she'll never let go. Swiftly we dodge around buildings avoiding light and people, until the jeep is in sight. Without a pause we run, our legs bumping as hard as they can, out feet pounding heavily, blood hammering in our ears.

I jump into the front seat, Helga runs around the side, and slides in next to me. "Go! Go! Go! Go!" she yells, and I slam on the gas pedal, peeling out and racing off.

The sounds of angry voices, destruction and gunshots fade in the background. And a sickening feeling wells up inside me and my stomach heaves with anxiety. Did I really just witness what I think I witnessed? Or was it all some misguided coincidence? Some kind of illusion? It can't possibly be real. A cold prickling works its way up the back of my neck and I can't help a small shiver.

And, as if fate must make absolutely certain I know exactly what I saw, I hear one of the rioters in the distance behind us, yell out, "in the name of La Sombra!"

Pressure pushes at me from all sides as we soar through the jungle. I swallow the bile in my throat and cringe as a familiar voice echoes in my mind, speaking words that bring both abhorrence and betrayal to my heart.

The sounds of the riot have long since faded into the distance as I drive the Jeep as fast as I can through the jungle towards our campsite and the ancient temple. Even though the town is now miles and miles behind us and no one seems to be following us, I still feel jittery and on edge. I clench the steering wheel tightly, trying to ignore how white my knuckles have become or the stiff ache coming from them.

" _In the name of La Sombra!"_

The words echo in my mind—bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. Mixed emotions following close behind. Confusion, betrayal, hurt, shock…so many emotions I can't even seem to process them all. And I'm still so unsure of what I even saw. Was it Richard? How could it be? We left him at camp and took the only vehicle. How would he get to town? And why would he be working for La Sombra? But one thing I know for certain is that I heard someone shout it again as we drove away.

But my visions are authentic. They're visions of things that have happened, not just the delusions of a crazed mind. And if that's certain, then if it was Richard that I saw, then this was also a vision and, therefore, a fact. A truth. Richard works for La Sombra. Richard is not what he seems.

But how do I prove it? Helga's the only one who knows about my visions—the only one who believes they are real. I can't barge back into camp accusing Richard of treachery without solid proof.

I glance over at Helga finally, her face dark except for the occasionally splash of moonlight through the overhanging of jungle plants. But even still I can see she's looking at me.

"So what is it that you're not telling me?" she asks when I finally make eye contact with her. The accusing tone in her voice makes me grimace. "I mean, I know we've just been through…well, _that_ , but there's something else going on with you. I can tell," she states, leaning on the armrest between us and fairly staring me down.

"I had another vision," I explain, glancing at her briefly before looking back at the trail in front of us.

"I know. Back at the fountain," she says with a tired shake of her head. "You already told me about it."

"No, not _that_ vision," I reply, feeling a surge of panic and cold betrayal at the memory. I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white and I have to mentally remind myself to loosen my hold. "I had one after that—during the riot."

"What?" she exclaims in surprise. "How did I miss that? Usually it's so…you know, _apparent_ when you're having one."

"It was really short," I explain. I take a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly before continuing. "It was when we were leaving the hotel."

"Oh…Oh!" she exclaims, eyes widening in realization. "Is that why you were taking so long? I just assumed you were about to go marching back out there to help in true Arnold fashion."

I can't help but roll my eyes at her inopportune teasing. "No. It was definitely a vision," I insist.

"So are you planning on telling me about it?"

"Well, that's the thing…I can't…I don't…" I trail off and heave a frustrated groan, before turning to her. "Helga, it's bad."

Her brow creases in concern, and I turn back towards the trail again. The beams from the Jeep bounce off the trees and plants, casting macabre shadows across the trail, and I try to ignore the strange sensation that we're being watched.

"Worse than the one when the brother was murdered? And the one of your…" she trails off and eyes me guiltily. She doesn't have to continue for me to understand.

I shudder at the memory of both of those before responding. "Different bad. It was current."

"Current? You mean happening right _now_?" she asks, reaching for my arm and gripping it.

"Yes," I state, swallowing a lump in my throat and glancing at her again for a second. "I had a vision about Richard. And it wasn't good."

Her wide eyes stare back at me in horror. " _Our_ Richard?"

Quickly, I relate to her what I saw—how, from the looks of it, he's the entire cause behind the riot and secretly works for La Sombra.

She shakes her head in bewilderment. "Well, are you sure it was _our_ Richard?" she asks finally, obviously still trying to process the information.

"Well, I'm _pretty_ sure. It looked like him. Like uncannily like him."

"Well, we have to tell the others!" she exclaims, hopping up and grabbing the crossbeam of the jeep as if she's going to dive out right now and run the rest of the way herself to tell them the horrible news.

Out of reflex, I grab her arm and pull her back down. "We can't tell them, Helga! We can't walk back into camp accusing one of our teammates!" I cry, frantically—panicked by thoughts of what could happen if we did just that.

"Why not?" she retorts, putting a hand on her hip and narrowing her eyes at me. "The guy's a regular creep!"

"Because we don't have proof! And what if I'm wrong?"

"What about your vision?" she asks, still looking as if she's going to jump out of the jeep.

"You and I both know that we're the only ones who know my visions are _real_. So, we can't just go accusing him," I state. I search through my mind, possibly scenarios bouncing around in my head like a tennis ball. There has to be something we can do…some way we can reveal this to the others and avoid looking like conspiracy theorists and traitors. " _Maybe_ ," I begin slowly, "we can try to get _them_ to realize it on their own."

"Yah…like catch him in a lie or something," she agrees, nodding. "Well, wait a minute." She puts a finger thoughtfully to her cheek. "If he started this riot…then he's not _there_ right now! Like by all likelihood we should beat him back, right?"

"Yes!" I reply, nodding enthusiastically.

"And there's your proof, Sherlock," she says, her voice sounding amused.

"Right." But a nagging feeling pulls at the back of my mind, and I shoot a glance her way before speaking. "But Helga, how could I have been so blind? How could I not have seen Richard's true colors?"

"Because you're an optimist, Arnold," she states without hesitation. "You always see the best in people. Whatever good there is in them, you'll see it." She shrugs, and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I bet even if you met La Sombra, you'd see some good in him and try to help him."

I shoot her a look before rolling my eyes.

"What?" she asks, feigning innocence. "Admit it, Football Head, you would. You're too much of a 'goody-two-shoes'."

"I guess."

"Look, Arnold. It's okay. No one else saw it either, right?" she reminds me, her tone stern. "Sandy had no vibes, Soren became friends with the guy, Antoinette's in love with him, and the list goes on. You're not the only one who got played here. We all did."

"But what if…" I begin but trail off, not wanting to seem paranoid, or annoying. Afraid that if I say it out loud it will sound even sillier and Helga will lose whatever legitimacy she believes in me.

"What if what? You have to say it now," she states, leaning and staring hard at my profile.

I heave a sigh. "What if I'm missing something else? What if no one's what they seem?"

"Arnold, that is _highly_ unlikely," she replies, almost chidingly. "Look at it this way. You've known all the others much longer than Richard. I mean he's been working for you for only—what?—six months? That's nothing compared to the others. I don't think you need to worry." She leans back in her seat, but still watches me.

"Yah, that's true," I say, only partially convinced, the nagging worry still prickling at the back of my mind.

"Let's deal with one thing at a time," she says, patting my shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I'm a mess after all that and really glad to be home." She gestures up ahead of us, and I blink in surprise.

The silhouette of the temple against the moonlit sky in front of us towers over us from its place on top of the hill. A bright fire burns at our campfire. The silhouettes of the team sitting near it, as they eat dinner together. Laughter trickles over to us, sounding strange after all that's just happened.

I park the Jeep and jump out. Gripping the side of the jeep, I lean down and press my forehead against my hand for a moment, trying to capture some bit of composure and serenity within me before we face the others. I feel Helga's hand on my shoulder and lift my head up, turning to meet her gaze. She doesn't say anything, but the look in her eyes tells me she's just as beleaguered as I feel. I run a hand through my head and let out an uptight sigh. She slips her arms around me and we hold each other for a moment, there in the dark—grateful to be unharmed, alive, and back in a safer place.

A fire roars in the pit, and the team sits around eating and laughing in its warm glow. Without a word Helga and I move toward them, words escaping us as we still try to cope with what we've just been through and what we now need to prove.

"Hey, guys, welcome back!" Sandy greets, standing up immediately and heading to the stove. "I'll fix you a plate."

Helga plops down into a chair consumed with exhaustion. But I glance around the fire looking for Richard. Just as we predicted, he's missing.

"Where's Richard?" I ask Sandy as she hands me a plate of food. I cringe at the harsh sound of my own voice.

"What's wrong?" she asks, taking a step back from me. She glances over at Helga and her eyes widen as she takes in our haggard appearances.

"Where's Richard?" I repeat, trying to soften my tone, but keep the same insistence. I'm not giving the guy any chance of getting back in time to appear innocent.

"He started feeling really sick this afternoon," Antoinette explains as she takes her plate to the washing bin. "He was running a really high fever and just felt horrible so he went to bed early."

I set my plate down, and whirl around towards his tent, hell-bent on proving that he isn't there at all. Sick. Yah, right. Helga doesn't say anything, but she's right there behind me.

Antoinette grabs my arm to stop me. "What are you doing?" she asks, a deep frown marring her face.

I jerk my arm out of her grip and adjust my shirt. "I'm just concerned about him and want to check on him," I reply making sure to keep my voice calm and casual.

"Can't that wait until morning?" she asks, irritation evident in her voice. "Rest is the best medicine. I'm sure waking him up won't do any good."

"Who says I'm going to wake him up?" I reply with an innocent shrug. "I just want to make sure…he's still _alive_ and not in any emergent situation." I turn quickly and head for his tent, Helga close at my heels. Once there I fling the tent door aside and step inside fully expecting to find it completely void of life.

Instead, I almost trip when I run headlong into Richard's cot with Richard asleep inside. In the dim light from the lantern on his desk I can see he is anything but well. His skin is pale, except his scarlet-red cheeks flushed with fever. His breathing is short, fevered breaths at each inhalation. The man is obviously really sick.

I shake my head as I back out, bumping shoulders with Helga as I do so. Words escape me and my mouth hangs open in confusion.

"He's there, isn't he?" Helga asks with a bewildered look on her face.

I nod solemnly, and silently walk back to the campfire. How can this even be possible? My mind spins in confusion and frustration. What does this mean? What did I actually see? _What is going on?_

"Are you gonna tell us what this is all about?" Antoinette asks, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at me in irritation. "And why you felt it was _so_ important to disturb Richard when he's sick?"

"I'm sorry," I mumble, my head aching with confusion. "I was just…I wanted to…we saw…"

"Honestly," Helga interrupts, stepping in front of me slightly, "we're just a little apprehensive after what happened in town."

"What happened?" Sandy asks, slipping off her apron and laying it aside. "You both look a little freaked out, to say the least. Not to mention you guys are acting really weird."

"It was that creepy old lady, wasn't it?" Soren asks, throwing his seat back as he stands up. "She's terrifying to look at with that crinkly skin and crazy gray hair." Rolling up his sleeves, he adds, "I knew she was trouble." He looks like he's ready to march back to town and take out the old woman.

"You can't go beat up a little old lady," Antoinette comments, rolling her eyes and stoking the fire with a stick.

If I wasn't so overwhelmed by everything I would have laughed. "No, it wasn't the old lady," I reply, finally finding my voice amidst all the emotions swirling around inside me. "But I think you were right. I don't know if the town's safe anymore. At least, it's definitely not right now."

"What do you mean?" Antoinette asks as she tosses the stick into the fire. "Are you guys okay?"

"We're fine," Helga answers her, running her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten it out. "We're just a little…rattled still."

"What happened, _amigos_?" Eduardo asks, concern marring his brow. "Nothing ever happens in _Valle Verde_. It has always been a very _salvado_."

"While we were there a group of men came and attacked the town," I explain, shaking my head, still in shock.

Sandy gasps and her eyes go wide. Eduardo shakes his head thoughtfully.

"I TOLD YOU!" Soren shouts, the amount of angry pride seething from his face is almost hilarious.

Sandy shushes him and smacks his arm. "Honey, the kids are asleep!"

"I told you!" he exclaims again, his voice lower but still excitable. "You all thought I was stupid and no one believed me and I was right! Something _was_ going on there!"

"You guys are kidding, aren't you?" Antoinette says, coming over. "This is some kind of prank, isn't it? Is it April Fool's Day?"

"It's August, Antoinette," Sandy replies with a raised eyebrow.

"Ugh, I don't even know what month it is anymore!" she moans. "Every month is the same as the previous one here!"

"We're not kidding," I state when they look back to me for an answer. "We're as surprised as you by it."

"I'm not surprised," Soren says.

"Shut up," Antoinette groans, chucking a stick at him.

"So what happened? Are you sure you're okay?" Sandy asks, stepping closer and examining us as if we're her sons and just tripped on the sidewalk.

"Well, nothing out of the ordinary was going on," I begin, running a hand through my hair, "it was just a regular day in town."

Helga nods before continuing, "we were playing baseball and—"

" _Baseball_ , eh?" Soren quips, wagging his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Geez, can you take _anything_ seriously?" Helga moans, slapping her hand to her face in exasperation.

"It's called comic relief, Pataki," he snaps. "Besides I'm still pissed that none of you believed me and took my warning seriously." He glares at us and shakes his head.

" _Anyway_ ," Helga continues, trying to refocus the conversation again, "we were playing baseball and out of nowhere we heard gunshots."

"Gunshots?" Sandy gasps, putting a hand to her heart. "Was anyone hurt?"

Helga and I exchange a guilty look.

"We don't know," Helga replies with a grimace. "We were so startled we just ran behind a couple buildings. After the gunshots there was shouting and fighting and even a burning building."

"We didn't get close enough to see anything else," I add, a twinge of guilt poking at me. We should have tried harder to help out.

"We just knew we had to get out of there," Helga says, finally sitting down in a chair and grabbing her plate. "We didn't know whether or not it was going to get worse."

"Well, who were they? Were they people from _Valle Verde_?" Eduardo asks, pulling his hat from his head and dropping it dejectedly onto a stump next to him.

"I've never seen any of them before," Helga states. "At least no one I recognized from the distance we were at."

"Who were they then?" Sandy asks, a worried crease marring her brow.

"I think they were La Sombra's men," I confess, glancing over and making eye contact with Eduardo.

"La Sombra?" Eduardo repeats. "That is not good, _amigos_. La Sombra's followers are usually very reckless."

"Oh, dude! That's the river pirate who stole the Green Eyes precious stone," Soren exclaims. "He's still around."

Sandy and Antoinette stare at Soren like he has something growing out of his ears.

"What?" he asks, when he notices their skeptical expressions.

"You remember the name La Sombra," Sandy says, obviously feeling miffed, "and yet you can't seem to remember any of the names of the mummies we found in Egypt?"

He gives her a crooked smile. "Was Whoo-za-what-zit a pirate? I think not."

Sandy heaves a sigh, but gives him a lopsided smile all the same. "Well, I guess I should be impressed that you remembered that, at least."

"These men—La Sombra's men—why has no one stopped them before?" Antoinette asks, turning back towards me. "Why is this kind of thing allowed to continue happening?"

"It's a big country. _Immenso_!" Eduardo says sadly. "La Sombra is just a little grain of sand in the grand scheme of things when you consider all the political disorder and crime. The _policia_ tend to focus on the bigger cities. _Valle Verde_ is just a little town with no _policia_ nearby. _Es muy triste_. Even if they eventually came, it would be too late— _demasiado tarde_."

"How did you manage to get out of there?" Antoinette asks.

"We managed to get out of there with help from Estuardo and Mariana," I explain. "They led us out the back of the hotel and we were parked pretty close so we just ran for it and drove off."

Sandy glances over at their tent, where the boys must be asleep. Concern mars her dark eyebrows as she looks back at me. "Are we even safe here?"

"As scary as it was I think it was an isolated incident," I reply. "I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"If this was going to be an issue I believe I would have heard something from the government about it," Eduardo states. "They usually inform me of potential threats to the archeology industry."

"But how would they know what these men are planning to do?" Antoinette remarks. "Or what their goal is?"

"I just mean," Eduardo replies, "if it was a militant group or guerilla group we'd know about it. It's likely just La Sombra's followers trying to cause petty trouble, nothing too serious."

"I think we need to leave immediately," Soren states, crossing his arms and glancing over to their tent where the boys are sleeping. "I'm not sure how I feel about staying in a place where there's such little control over things like this."

"You're kidding," Sandy comments, staring up at him with a puzzled expression. "Egypt had the same kind of stuff going on."

"No. I told you guys it wasn't safe to be here," he insists, shaking his head.

"Don't you think that's a little extreme," Antoinette interjects. "I mean it might be an isolated incident just like Arnold said."

"She is right, _amigo_ ," Eduardo agrees, placing a hand on Soren's shoulder. "These people—La Sombra's men or whoever—may just be temporarily passing through. I doubt they are even aware of our existence."

"And even if they did know we were here, why would they care about making trouble for us?" Antoinette asks.

"Wasn't La Sombra an artifact hunter though, Eduardo?" I ask Eduardo.

"He's more interested in monetary value," Eduardo explains. "La Corazon was his interest only because of its value. What we have here isn't worth much in that regard."

"Well, in that case I think we should go help!" Sandy states. "The villagers might be in trouble. Especially the children!"

"We are not going to help," Soren states, the tone in his voice bureaucratic.

"Why not?" Sandy exclaims, whirling around to face him again. "What if more people are hurt? We can't just stay here and not do anything."

"Of course we can," Soren replies, with a somber shrug. " What good could we do anyway?"

Sandy gestures towards their tent. "Well, you have—"

But he cuts her off. "And think about the boys. Do you really want to put them in danger?"

"He's right, Sandy," Helga says, putting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. "Besides, it's dark now. I really don't think there's anything we can do."

"Maybe we wait a few days and then some of us can go back and check," I add. That would also give me a chance to figure out this Richard situation. Maybe I'll have another vision or something. I glance at Helga and the look in her eyes tells me she's thinking the same thing. I give her a nod, hopefully only discernable to us.

"I guess so," Sandy replies glumly, kicking at a rock at her feet and reminding me of a dejected child. "I just feel like we should do something now…I just keep thinking of all those poor children in town."

"I know what would happen if we did go and somehow managed to survive and avoid catastrophe," Soren begins, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide with mock horror.

"And what's that?" Sandy replies, ready for whatever snide comment we can all sense is coming from Soren.

"You'd want to adopt a bunch of kids to 'help them' or something."

"Well, we only have two, so it'd be completely reasonable," she replies, giving him a sassy head-shake.

"I think right now we're even numbered," Soren replies, diplomatically. "And we live in the middle of a jungle with crazy monkeys and who knows what else out there. I think two is safe, reasonable number."

"Well, we can't just let the people in town—our friends—suffer!" Sandy exclaims. Even Soren's playful teasing can't seem to calm her down.

"Calm down," Antoinette states, finally joining the conversation. "You're becoming irrational."

"She's right," Helga adds. "Let's look at this logically. There really isn't much we can do."

"I think they best ting we can do is stay here. In fact that's an order." I interject, hoping to help everyone calm down. I'm finally starting to feel calmer and more rational about the whole thing. Besides I'm more concerned that a La Sombra flunky is in our midst and no one else knows.

"Fine," Sandy replies, crossing her arms defiantly. "But when we get to the pearly gates, we know who was willing to go help and who wasn't."

"Riiiight. Okay, Sandy," Soren replies with an eye roll.

The group slowly dissipates, going their separate ways to bed. I take a seat by the fire, stoking it with a stick, my mind raging with confusion and a sudden insecurity about myself. Richard obviously wasn't the instigator of the riot. Whatever I saw—if it was real…it wasn't today. It was something else.

And if I was wrong about this—if this vision or whatever was wrong—then what else was I wrong about? In what other ways had my mind led me astray? Could I even rely on it or my visions anymore?

A branch breaks nearby, startling me. Glancing up over my shoulder I see Helga approaching. She flops down into the chair next to me, stretching her long, lean legs out in front of her.

"I know what you're thinking, Arnold," she says matter-of-factly, giving me a sideways look.

"And how would you know that?" I ask her teasingly with a raised eyebrow.

"Because you're predictable," she replies. Then she turns to me and leans over the armrest so her face is mere inches from mine. "I thought we already talked about this, Pooh Bear."

I roll my eyes playfully and grin. "Okay, so what am I thinking?"

"You're thinking," she begins, still leaning in close, but wagging a thoughtful finger as well now, "that these visions of yours are false and that it's all just your mind playing games or something. You're getting down on yourself that you were 'wrong' about Richard," she adds, using quotation fingers.

For all her saying I'm predictable I'm still shocked she got it so completely perfect.

I toss my stick into the fire. "So what if I am thinking all that?" I ask, turning towards the fire and staring into its bright flames.

"You can't be thinking that way," she replies, still leaning close and watching me intently. I glance back at her, but the deep sincerity in her eyes is so startling I have to quickly glance back away.

"Why not? What's wrong with thinking that way if it's the truth?" I ask, shaking my head in frustration.

"Arnold Shortman," she chides, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at her once more. "It's _not_ the truth. That's why."

"How can you be so sure, Helga? What if you're putting your faith in some guy who really is a crazy, crackpot archeologist?" I give her a crooked smile, even though I'm partially serious.

She chuckles and drops her hands. "Because I'm sure, Arnold. I'm a people-reader, didn't you know?"

I don't answer and instead, feel a frown spread across my lips. "Well, if I'm not crazy and Richard really is…a criminal," I whisper, "how do we prove it? I thought we had it in the bag when I thought we'd beat him back to camp."

"I did too," she agrees. "For now, I think we should get a good night's rest and sleep on it." She smiles at me and places her hand on my knee. "We'll figure this out together. Don't worry. I've been known to sleuth in my days, maybe I can dig up some evidence. For now, let's just play it as cool and normal as possible so Richard doesn't expect anything."

I nod slowly in response, hoping she'll leave her hand on my knee. She doesn't though. Instead she pulls it away and flicks my chest playfully.

"For what it's worth I had fun with you in town today." She bites her lip gently and smiles. "You know, before the whole run-for-our-lives thing."

I chuckle softly. "Yah, that _minor_ incident did sort dampen the day didn't it?"

She laughs and punches my shoulder playfully. "Well, Dr. Shortman, I don't know about you, but after all that running and vision witnessing, I'm tuckered out, so I'm going to bed." She pulls herself up onto her long legs, and smiles down at me. "You coming?"

"To bed with you?" I ask, shooting her my most debonair smile and standing up in front of her.

She waggles an eyebrow at me. "I hadn't thought about it that way, but now that you mention it…" she giggles and pushes me back down into my chair. "Nice try, Romeo. Thou art going to thine own bed," she teases with a wink. "Night, Football Head. See you in the morning." She saunters off, turning to wink once more before slipping into her tent.

* * *

Author's Note:

I meant to post this little note last chapter and forgot. I wanted to say that I've had this entire story, all it's plot etc planned since the beginning. So similarities between this and any theories or whatever happens in the TJM (assuming I don't finish this before it's out) is purely coincidental. I have so many plans for this story, all there since day one, and I just wanted to get that out there, because I felt like at the time this was very original etc. So I guess what I'm saying is, all the plot ideas in here were mine originally, despite any similarities with future stuff. If that makes sense.

Okay, sorry, for the rambling. Hope you guys are still enjoying! Don't forget to review and let me know how you liked this chapter, story, and any predictions! I love to hear what you guys think might be going on!

Loves,

Arnold's Love


	17. What Disasters Can Bring

Chapter 16:

"Is this punishment for my comment yesterday?" Helga asks between gasps for breath as she climbs over a large fallen tree.

I can't help but chuckle. When I suggested we take this hike together yesterday as our way to get our minds off everything that had been going on the past week since the riot, I may have left out the part about how it's an _extremely_ difficult hike, or so I've been told—and read in my dad's journal. "What comment?" I ask, trying not to laugh as she tumbles off the tree and onto the ground. "You make so many comments that deserve punishment."

She grimaces and narrows her eyes at me as she stands back up. "Har har. I'm talking about yesterday when you guys were excavating the chamber floor and I said, 'is digging in the dirt all you guys ever do?'" She reaches out and grabs my arm, helping herself up over another log. A string of goose bumps work their way up my arm and I smile, realizing I'm actually starting to like the feeling instead of dread it.

"Oh, you mean the 'digging in dirt' that's your bread and butter right now?" I tease, secretly thrilled that she's keeping her hand on my arm.

"Yah."

"No, this is not punishment," I reply, laughing. "It's supposed to be fun."

"I've hiked a lot in my journalist days," she says, pausing to take a few breaths, "and this may be the most un- _fun_ mountain I've ever hiked. In fact, it might be what kills me." She places her free hand over her heart. " _And now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep—_ "

"Stop being a baby," I tease taking her hand from my bicep and holding it tight to aid her as she climbs over rocks and logs.

"Hey, I was enjoying the feel of your bicep," she scoffs, giving me a playful glare. "It was a nice way to meet my death—one hand on my heart, one hand on your massively ripped arm."

A thrilled heat rushes to my cheeks at her compliments. I chuckle warmly and smile at her.

"Do you work out or something?" she quips, reaching up to squeeze my bicep again, throwing in a faux girlish giggle as well.

I can feel my cheeks get even hotter. "Nope, it's all natural, baby. A studly side effect of being an archeologist who does the manual labor himself."

She slides her hand back down, slipping it into mine again. "Million-dollar idea here," she says, her eyes brightening excitedly. "What if we head back to the states and open a franchise of gyms called 'Archeology Digs' and people can just use shovels and brushes all day to build muscle? We can totally revolutionize the gym industry!"

I chuckle as she wiggles her eyebrows in exaggeration. "Yep, definitely a successful idea there," I tease.

"Okay, but seriously, this trail just looks like everything else here in the jungle," she complains, tripping on a rock. "I feel like my death should come to me in a more worthy location than this."

"Stop being a baby. I thought you were a Pataki."

"I am a Pataki," she replies, squeezing my hand tightly to help pull herself up. "But Patakis aren't known for their hiking skills. We're known for selling electronics, making smoothies, getting straight A's, and sabotaging people. None of that is very helpful when it comes to extreme mountain climbing."

"How about you _sabotage_ this mountain?" I tease, and she smacks me light on the arm with her other hand. "Seriously though…I think Patakis are also known for their determination and stubbornness, right?"

She shoots me a playful grin. "Maybe…"

"So use those skills. It's not that bad." I help her over a few more boulders and logs until we finally reach a stretch of path without anything barring the way. I'm sure she's going to let go of my hand, but she doesn't and my heart skips a beat in response.

"Remind me why we're going on this _excruciatingly_ painful hike?" she asks, slowing our pace and trying to catch her breath.

I'm feeling a shortness of breath too, to be honest, but I think it's more from being near Helga than the actual difficulty of the hike. "Because Eduardo says it's the highest point in the area," I reply. "You can see everything for miles. Besides, don't you want to see what San Lorenzo _really_ looks like? I can guarantee you it's one of the most beautiful places in the world."

"Eduardo said that, huh?" She narrows her eyes and stares straight ahead.

"Yah." I shoot her a curious look.

"Well, I'm gonna punch him when we get back." She lifts up her opposite hand and begins opening and closing it exaggeratedly.

"What are you doing?" I ask, raising a puzzled eyebrow.

"Ol' Betsy needs to stretch in preparation," she states matter-of-factly. "She's a little out of shape. She hasn't been working out as much as your biceps have."

I bite my lip to hide my huge smile. "Helga, you can't punch Eduardo," I tell her sternly, even though an amused smile is playing at the corners of my mouth.

"So you're defending him now? Let me ask you this: are you even sure Eduardo's on your side? I mean, dude, this hike has _murder_ written all over it."

I chuckle. "Of course he is. And you're _not_ going to punch him."

"Arnold," she says, locking eyes with me, a look of complete seriousness on her face. "If you wanted to get me alone, there are less dangerous ways to do it," she slides me a smirk before tripping and stumbling. Her grip on my hand tightens and I unconsciously pull her up to keep her from hitting the ground. She mumbles something, but I don't catch it. And even though I don't want to see her hurt, I'm secretly glad for the distraction. Because, seriously, what could I say to that, even if it was the truth? Before I can think of a response, she continues.

"Look, as hot as I think it is when you boss me around, I will do what I want to and right now—" she pauses, and leans over, putting her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath— "I want to punch Eduardo for even mentioning this view to you. Arnoldo, I've been all over Central and South America. This better be one spectacular view." She pulls a water jug out of her back and takes a quick drink, before leaning back over to finish catching her breath.

She thinks I'm hot while being bossy, huh? I'll definitely be using this sometime soon. "It will be. I promise."

"I bet it's not as memorable as the _Foz do Iguaçu_ or _Fernando de Noronha_ and those places were much easier to access than this. So bonus points there." She glares up at me then, still bent over, and her hair is falling in her face, making her look all the more alluring.

I want to reach out and push it back, but instead reach out my hand towards her with a smirk and an invitation to shake it. "You're on."

"What?" She slides her hand across her forehead and tucks some of the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

"The bet," I reply, lifting my eyebrows dramatically, as I slide my hand into hers. "You're on. I bet you that this will be much more memorable than both _Foz do Iguaçu_ and _Fernando de Noronha_." With that I giver her hand a firm shake.

"Fine. Deal." She slides her hand back out of mine and places it on her hip. "What do I win?"

"You mean what do _I_ get when _I_ win."

"Face it, Football Head, you don't have a chance," she says, walking her fingers up my chest and then flicking me on the nose.

"I'll beat you and as my reward, you'll give me whatever I want," I reply, leaning into her face, getting momentarily distracted by her lips.

"What is it you want?" The stubborn hairs blow across her face again and she angrily bats them away.

"Whatever, I decide, whenever I decide. Who says I know what it is now? Besides, don't you like surprises, Helga?" I ask her, a slow, controlled smile inching across my face as I pull back slightly, taking one more quick glance at her lips.

She narrows her eyes at me. "I don't know if I should trust you, Doc Holliday."

"Have I ever steered you wrong, Miss Pataki?" I ask her, reaching out and twisting one of the wayward curls around my finger.

She pulls the curl away from me and tucks it behind her ear again in one swift, aggressive motion. "Two words: 'king of fools.'" Turning, she starts marching up the hill again.

I shuffle to catch up with her. "That's three words, Phil."

She guffaws lightly. "I'm dying on a mountain that Eduardo manipulated you to take me on and you're making _Hercules_ jokes? I think I'm being set up for an ambush, here." She keeps up the quick pace, and this time I'm starting to feel winded too.

"But, Helga, it's just us here. You have to admit it's kind of nice. No Soren making his endless baseball jokes—"

She waves that off with a light hand. "But his lame baseball jokes make digging in the _dirt_ much more interesting."

"No Sandy shoving food in our faces—"

"But her food is so freaking good!" She stops and plops down onto a log while throwing off her backpack in one dramatic swoop and leans her head back to face the sky. "Okay, I'll admit, it _is_ nice to be able to talk to you without them around. Know what would be even nicer?"

"What?" I ask, sitting next to her, silently thanking the jungle for making the log so small that I get to sit close enough to her that our arms are flush together.

"Going down the mountain and then finding a nice, sane place to talk. There has got to be pretty places that don't risk our lives like this one," she says, rubbing her neck, before looking over at me.

"We'll be fine. My parents climbed this mountain and I know exactly where they went wrong."

"What do you mean went _wrong_?" she asks, her voice rising and her eyes widening.

"Never mind. Here," I reply, leaning down behind the stump and plucking a pretty pink flower from the ground. "For you. I no longer have any competition, so the playing field's wide open."

She gives me an irresistible smile before putting the flower behind her ear. "I think this might be the prettiest flower I've ever received. Not that you ever had any competition before…but thanks. _É lindo_ ," she says in Portuguese.

We sit there in silence for a moment. Just enjoying the sight, and the beautiful, lush canopy of foliage. Not to mention I'm enjoying the soft pressure of her arm against mine and the gorgeous view of her through my peripheral vision. I slip my other hand into my pocket, playing with the soft fabric.

"What do you want out of life, Helga?" I ask her, gazing up at the sky.

It's such a forward, out-of-the-blue question, but suddenly all my heart wants to know is everything about who she is—what makes her tick, what her dreams are—her goals. I want to know her on a much deeper level than our superficial journalist and archeologist relationship. And deep down, I hope that somewhere in her dreams…is me.

She tips her head and looks at me sideways with a crooked smile. "I don't know. I sometimes think I know exactly what I want and then things change." She pulls the flower from her hair and twirls it between her fingers. "Sometimes," she continues, "I think a successful career is what I want. Then the next thing I know, I'm thinking I just want to say 'goodbye world' and just get lost and let the universe take me to where it thinks I should be. And other times…" she begins her eyes moving downward (and I _swear_ she's looking at my lips and I can't help but glance at hers as well). "Other times I think I just want to be loved and have a family. A little, happy family that loves me since, well…since I never really had that growing up. And I'd like to be the kind of mom to a child that my mom never was for me." She lays her head on my shoulder, and gazes at the flower in her hand—which honestly both surprises and thrills me. "For a while, I didn't think that I could have both a family and a career with _National Geographic_ but seeing Soren and Sandy's family, maybe that's not really the case anymore. They've kind of got me believing it's possible, you know?"

"Yah, they definitely seem to have it figured out," I say, quietly. I glance at her as she twirls the pink flower around. Loose strands of her pale hair flutter in the breezes, tickling my face and I'm afraid to move, like seeing a deer in the forest—any sudden movement can scare the timid creature away. Not that Helga's timid, but as far as feelings go, she's definitely on the clandestine side of things.

I like knowing she wants a family—a family different from her own upbringing. An upbringing which was lacking in so many ways. I wish I could have a hand in helping her with that dream. We'd make such a good team.

"What do you want in life, Arnold?" she asks breaking the peaceful silence between us.

I take a deep breath. "Remember when we were nine and I found that map of San Lorenzo?"

She nods thoughtfully, her eyes still fixed on the pink flower.

"Well, the day I found that…I became so obsessed with finding my parents…that it eventually turned into this unquenchable desire to find out what happened to them. It's honestly all I've thought about for so long. And now…now that I know what happened to them. I feel lost."

"I can't believe that's the only thing you've ever thought about wanting. I mean, I know that's been your number one for ages, but are you saying that you've never thought of _anything_ else?" She moves her head from my shoulder and looks me in the eyes, her face close to mine. "What does your heart say you really want?"

I glance away, her closeness and soft voice almost a bit too overwhelming. Abruptly, I can picture it so vividly it startles me. Helga and I, together, with a family, traipsing through Egypt, the forests of San Lorenzo, and anywhere else life takes us. Maybe she'd be writing a book about our lives or continuing to stay with _National Geographic_ , but what is obvious is that we're all happy. And I just _know_.

"To have what my grandparents and parents have: true love. Not the fake stuff that movies shove down your throats, but the real, deep love that you only come across once in a lifetime."

Finally, I turn back to her and I'm struck by just how beautiful she is. Maybe it's because of her natural beauty, the kind that doesn't need to be enhanced by makeup, or maybe it's because of her inner beauty, or, most likely, it's a combination of both. It stuns me, not for the first time, just how amazing she really is—everything about her. Who knew that Helga Pataki, my schoolyard bully, would have turned out to be the one that I would want to spend the rest of my life with?

At that unexpected realization, I can't help but stop breathing. Is she really…? But before I finish asking myself it, I know it's true. She just told me what she wants with the rest of her life and I've just now realized that I want the same. Who knew that this is where we would turn out? From victim to –

I quickly stand up, not finishing my thought. I can't. I need to digest this. It's just too much. Before she can figure out that there's something wrong, because she always seems to be able to do that, I turn back to her with a smile and offer her my hand to help her up. I need a distraction. "We're not getting any closer to the top."

She gives me a mischievous smile as she takes my hand and I pull her to her feet. "But we're staying close to the bottom," she says, "where's it's safe and not treacherous."

I don't let go of her hand, instead I keep a hold of it. "Come on, we can do this. We're not going to let a mountain beat us are we? Besides, the only way I'm getting my winning prize is if we get to the top and see the view."

* * *

When we started out on this hike, I may have underestimated how hard this trail was. And by underestimated I mean I was about a billion light-years off in my estimation. What started off as extremely hard ended up being hellacious. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had claimed it was well worth the hike, something that at this point, I'm not even sure of myself.

I'll give Helga this: for all her earlier complaining, she is one tough woman. She kept up with me every step of the way, and although we're both exhausted, I can see the summit of the hike is only a few feet—climbs—away.

"Helga, look! We made it!" I exclaim, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her the last few feet.

"Awesome," she replies, immediately lying down in exhaustion. "The question is: are you ready to spend twenty-to-life in jail?" She flings her arms out to her sides, and closes her eyes as she tries to catch her breath.

I stare down at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I think I'm dead," she replies, her eyes still closed. "I think you murdered me by dragging me up this monstrosity of a mountain."

I'm too tired to even chuckle and instead flop down on the ground next to her.

"I just want you to know, Arnold," she says, her voice strained from her fatigue, "Eduardo is _so_ going down when we get back. You can't stop me."

" _If_ we get back," I reply. The thought of having to go back down there right now sounds like about the worst thing I can possibly think of. I have to admit I'm feeling every bit as drained as Helga looks. I should have known my dad wasn't exaggerating in his journal…but how would I know? I never knew the guy. All I know is he's my grandfather's son and my grandfather was _quite_ the storyteller.

"Admit it, it wasn't as easy as you thought either," Helga says, rolling onto her side and propping her dead on her hand so she can look at me.

I can't even move. Every muscle and bone in my body is aching so much. "Oh, I'll gladly admit it."

"In that case," she begins the mischievous smile I love so much sneaking across her lips, "wanna help me take down Eduardo when we get back? You know, just a little well-deserved revenge."

I grin and roll my eyes playfully. "Do you think killing a little old man is really necessary?"

"First of all, Eduardo isn't a 'little old man'. Second, I've done crazier things for revenge," she admits, giving me an irresistible grin.

"Oh, yah?" I ask, turning onto my side and mirroring her position by propping my own head in my hand. "Like what?"

"Like pretending to be blind to get back at a certain football-headed prankster on April Fool's Day," she replies with a wink before sitting up. She turns her neck back and forth, stretching out her sore muscles.

"How is that crazier than murder?" I laugh, sitting up as, well, and propping my arms on my knees.

"When you wind up in a pool wearing a jester's hat it is," she says with a laugh. Then she gets up, stretching out a bit more before looking around. "Alright, my football-headed prankster, let's see this ' _award-winning'_ view you were going on and on about."

"I wasn't going _on and on_ about it," I reply, getting up and following her, my muscles screaming in defiance.

"You kind of were," she replies, walking over to one side of the cliff. "You said it was better than—whoa!" The last word comes out as more of a breath from her as she takes in the sight before us.

The sheer expanse of rainforest enfolds before us. A tangle of green shades spreading out as far as we can see; still lakes and frothy waterfalls glittering in the sunlight; valleys and peaks, mountains and cliffs; winding rivers like silky ribbons meandering through the lush greenery. The small town in the distance, the small colorful buildings stark against the mulled colors of the rainforest. The sky stretches on above it all, blue and bright, with shifting clouds, casting shadows across the beautiful canvas below.

I look away and back to Helga, watching her with even more interest than I felt for the view from up here. The breeze flutters the flyaway hairs around her face. A few freckles seem to be sprinkled across her nose, as if being out in the sun forced their appearance. And her blue eyes glimmer like the clear blue skies above us.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I breathe, though I'm definitely referring more to one sight over the other.

"It really is," she says, finally turning to smile at me.

"This is the highest point in the area," I say, casually stepping closer to her and putting a hand on the small of her back, using the excuse of guiding her as the excuse to touch her. "See that over there? That waterfall closest to us? That's Sapote Falls."

"That's great and all," she replies with a smirk, looking up at me through her lashes, "but what about the infamous volcano that you ' _silenced_ ' when you were born?"

I blush, feeling stupid from her tone of voice and give her a dismissive shrug. "You can't see it from here. It's farther over that way." I point to the south. "I haven't gone yet, but I want to at some point."

"Maybe you could bring me along," she says, leaning her shoulder back into my chest causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach. "You know so I can make sure you don't go on anymore perilous hikes," she teases, elbowing me before stepping closer to the edge and looks down. "What's down there?"

"Helga! Move away from that edge!" I exclaim, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. I know enough from my dad's journal to know that's not a good idea.

"Hey, I'm not a moron, Football Head," she snorts. "I know how to _not_ fall off a cliff." She smacks my hand off her and steps to the edge again, trying to peer down below.

I step behind her, ready to pull her back again. "That's not what I'm worried about. The ground is—" I'm interrupted by a soft rumbling sound beneath me. A rush of panic rushes through me as I look at Helga before grabbing onto her arms. "Uh-oh."

The ground disappears from under out feet and falls away just as I slip an arm around Helga's waist and pull her tightly to me. Our screams echo as we fall. The wind is knocked out of me as we hit the cliff's slanted slide. Terror grips my heart as I try to breathe again. With my free hand I claw at the ground desperately trying to slow our descent even the slightest.

We fly down the hill, gravity pulling me faster than Helga causing her to slip from my arms, but still falling closely behind me. We slide so fast that we hit a slope on the cliff side and are rocketed into the air. Below us is a raging river full of sharp jagged rocks. My heart pounds in anticipation and fear of what pain will meet me when I land. I can only pray that Helga will make it unscathed—her screams are behind me, the only clue I have to where she is.

Plunging into the cool water my mind sparks awake and I realize I didn't hit any rocks and that somehow I'm okay. Instantly, I begin swimming for the surface, gasping for breath while the current tries to pull me back down. Desperately I search the wild waters for her blonde head, silently praying that she's alive and okay. As my eyes search the expanse of the river, I can see that we're in a canyon with only tall, overhanging walls on either side…no hope of finding land to climb on at this cataract.

"Helga!" I shout over the waters tumultuous sounds. "Helga!"

She finally surfaces only a few yards from me, gasping for air as she tries to keep her head above water.

"Helga!" I cry, getting her attention and desperately swimming toward her.

"Arnold!" she yells, fighting against the rough flow of the river.

"Are you okay?" I shout, when I reach her. Our arms immediately go around each other, clinging desperately to each other, the only secure thing near us as forceful waters try to bring us down again.

"I think so," she replies, water dripping down her face, her lips slightly blue. "What do we do now?" she asks, glancing around and seeing the high cliff walls.

But before I can answer her, I notice there's a loud noise coming from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder me I feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. It's not over yet.

Full of panic and desperation, I glance around as I tread the water, hoping to spot an escape. We only have one option.

"Helga, we need swim— _fast_! That way," I say pointing behind her. "As hard as you can or you're going to get a really close up view of Sapote Falls."

Her blue eyes widen in fear as she looks behind me. We start swimming away from the falls—with all our strength as hard as we can. Dread and terror fill my veins like icy liquid. I can feel my body weakening and we're no farther from the falls than we were before…in fact we're closer.

The slow, bitter creep of defeat and acceptance enters my mind. This is it. This is the end. Our only option is to go down with the falls and hope that by some slim chance we survive it without too much damage.

I swallow the shocked lump in my throat. "Helga?" I say, pulling her to me again. I can see in her eyes she's realized the same thing. It's hopeless. Her eyes are wide with fear and get a tiny glint of defiance.

"How high are the falls?" she asks me, as the current pushes us closer and closer.

"You _really_ don't want to know."

"We can make it," she says, that spark of Pataki stubbornness fully taking over her expression now.

Disagreeing with her seems like a pointless battle, all things considered, so I only nod. "Hold onto me tight, okay?" I breathe, wrapping her in my arms as securely as I possibly can. Her arms go around me as well, holding me in a death-like grip. The water's edge only a few feet away. I close my eyes, breathing her in—for it might be the last time I do. "Helga, I—"

But the current pulls us over the edge. We fall with the water, plummeting so fast that the horrible, dreadful anticipation of the oncoming impact makes my stomach fly to my chest and my body cringes in anticipation.

We land in a heap on something soft, the water still pouring down on us. A moment later we're under the waterfall—more like _behind_ the waterfall—staring at each other in shock. Letting go of her, I look around noticing we landed on some sort of rope netting. I climb off, gazing around at the room we're in. A room my gut tells me my parents once stood in as well. It's dark and cave-like, the only light coming from the other side of the waterfall and a small circular room in the back. Fish and tools hang on the wall while woven baskets are strewn apart.

I close my eyes tightly, fighting away the residual terror—the lingering horror of almost losing my life. I focus on the rapid beating of my heard—it's sound pounding in my ears, throbbing behind my eyes. I'm frozen, too afraid to move; almost too afraid to breathe.

I realize, with a jolt, that life is incredibly short. Just when you think you've got all the time in the world, you're reminded you don't. Any day, any moment, any breath could be your last. You don't have to climb a treacherous mountain to almost meet your end. You can be doing something as simple as walking through a tiny town with the love of your life…like last week.

We waste so much time in life from fear. Too afraid to try. Too afraid we'll be embarrassed. Too afraid we'll ruin a good thing. I could have died last week in town. I could have died today. _Helga_ could have died today. Standing with Helga on that mountain could have been our last moment together— _ever_! What am I doing wasting so much time being too afraid to just grab that girl and pull her into my arms?

My brain—still in complete shock from the last few minutes—registers the movement behind me as Helga trips over the netting, bumping into me. Somehow that pulls me out of my frozen, dizzied state, and I grab her hand to pull her back up, sliding one arm around her waist to help steady her.

"What just happened?" Helga whispers, glancing back at the falls before looking back up at me, her deep blue eyes wider than I've ever seen them. I can see her mind trying to catch up to the last few minutes. Just like my own. "I can't believe we survived that," she adds, her voice breathy and weak.

"Me neither." I can feel that my voice is deep, slightly raw from the ordeal just minutes ago, and my gaze still locked with hers. "If I didn't know better…I'd think it was more than a fluke that we survived it."

The sound of the waterfall muffles my thoughts and all I can do is stare into her big, beautiful eyes. Her natural beauty so evident, even in the shadows—her dark, expressive eyebrows, her large, shining azure eyes, the soft arch of her cheekbones, and her pink, heart-shaped mouth—parted slightly, her breathing still recovering from our fall.

"Arnold."

My eyes drift back up to meet hers. Her eyes are on me as well, our breath blending between us—still slightly heavy from the exertion of the past few minutes. The long lines of her are body flush against me, sending warmth through every last inch of me despite the sopping wet layer of clothes between us. She doesn't pull away. Tenderly my hand slides up her arm to caress her face.

I gaze into her eyes—into the face of the woman I'm in love with—blonde, wet tendrils of hair falling out of her ponytail. Her eyes search mine, wide and bright blue as I reach out, sliding my hand up her face to push the hairs away. My hand stays on her face, its velvet softness cool. Her eyes move down, looking at my lips—my own eyes following suit—her soft lips so enticing, still parted with a question.

"Arnold?" she repeats, her voice weak and breathy—so unlike the voice I'm used to.

I trace the outline of her lips with my thumb, testing to see if she'll run. Her sharp intake of breath is my only response and so I lean towards her. I'm no longer quite so surprised that this is happening, I've wanted it for so long. And by the way she's still standing here, wrapped in my arms, it seems like she feels the same way.

Our noses graze, causing my heart to beat faster in anticipation; our lips only a breath away. I feel almost light-headed from nervousness, tingles flying from my stomach to my chest and down my arms. Everything in me, every fiber of my being, is aching to kiss her. The fear's there, undoubtedly, but the urge to finally taste her lips is so much stronger. I almost died without tasting her lips. This chance—this moment—is what matters.

I hover there above her lips, hesitating for only a moment, my lips so close to hers that I'm not even sure if they've touched yet or not. She's still not pulling away and I know for sure now.

But then something cold lands on my head causing me to jump and push Helga forward slightly—a reflex of wanting to save her from whatever just hit me since my nerves are on edge after our near-death experience. "What was that?"

However, Helga pulls herself from my arms, moving almost frantically away from me, and I regret my words immediately. "Hoo, boy! That was a close one, eh, Shortman?" Helga quips, her voice uneven and shaky.

"Huh?" I ask, as my hand reaches up to where I was hit. Instantly, I recognize it as only water leaking through the cave's ceiling.

"Us almost kissing," she replies, as she stands up to dust herself off.

"Wha—" Something lands on my head again. Looking up another drop of water lands right in my eye. Stupid waterfall.

"I mean we almost died," Helga rambles on, taking another step backwards. "It was sort of…you know, a _heat of the moment_ type thing, right? Last resort and all. I get it. We've all been there before. Sometimes twice, eh, Football Head?" she laughs. Why is she laughing?

I stare at her in confusion and shock, trying to figure out what the hell she's talking about. Everything was going so well, dammit! She had felt so good in my arms and just when I was finally going to kiss the woman of my dreams that damn water…!

It suddenly dawns on me what she's doing; what she thought _I_ was doing. There's no way in hell I'm going to let her get away with it. I reach out to her, taking a step closer to close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her waist, and pull her to my chest in one swift, smooth motion. "You're not getting away with that this time, Helga. That was not a 'heat of the moment type thing' and you know it. We've let this go on for too long and I'm not going to let _that_ excuse stop us _again_."

My mouth covers her in a searing, demanding kiss. Her hands lay flat against my stomach, and for a moment I think maybe I've taken this too far, but she doesn't resist or push me away.

Taking that as a sign I push away all of my doubts and uncertainty and hold her tighter. A rapid wave of heat courses through my veins—so intense I might actually burst into flames.

She relaxes and her mouth surrenders to me more readily. Her hands travel up my chest, across the breadth of my shoulders, and finally tangle themselves in my hair. She grips my hair and deepens our kiss even more. The thrill of her desire sends sparks bursting through my mind, warmth into my heart, and a completion to my soul. I tug her petite frame tighter against me—never wanting to let go.

With each successive kiss, we melt more into each other. In her kiss I find pieces of her soul, poetry and verse, and yet something so much deeper than that of the written word. Love mixed with heartache, beauty, and passion—the depths of which I've never felt before. Each kiss is further in the depths of that soul—a soul I thought I'd known but never really had, at least, not really. A sea of desire that is all Helga—and I could explore it forever.

If it were up to me, I'd spend the rest of my life in this moment—with Helga in my arms, the soft cascading waterfall the only sound, and the feel of her lips on mine.

A loud clatter reverberates through the room. Helga and I gasp, pulling apart to spin around and look towards the room's entrance.

"Arnold?"

* * *

Author's Note:

I'm so sorry for the long delay. I really had all the best intentions to keep up with the every two week update. Two deaths in my family and a newborn niece in the NICU having surgery all in one month has delayed me quite a bit. I'm just barely starting on the road to recovery.

But this chapter's been written for months, so I went back through it last night so I could post it and give you guys something!

Artwork is from Mony/MikosArtHouse and seriously guys, could it be any better? It's perfection and I'm sooooo in love with it! I hope you are too!

Make sure and drop me a review to let me know what you thought of the chapter! And also who you think has found them in the cave?

Love,

Arnold's Love


	18. Friend or Foe?

Chapter Seventeen:

"A-Arnold?"

I push Helga behind me so I can protect her, the urge strong after our fall even though I know she can take care of herself. She lets out a little noise of offense and sticks a sharp elbow into my ribs before moving to stand next to me instead, but I don't take my eyes off the figure in front of us, and I'm not about to apologize for my instinct. The figure is standing with only the backlight of the tunnel's entrance, blocking out any features. I can't even tell if it's a man or woman.

"Who are you?" I demand, squinting in the dim light.

Instead of answering, the figure moves closer. I hear Helga's soft gasp, and feel my eyes widen. The young man before us must only be about our age, but his eyes express more life lived than either of us. Somehow within them is a kind of sadness, regret, and deep pain that, though barely discernible, registers within me. Black kohl lines his eyes, bringing out their intensity, but not hiding the wrinkles from the years. A long, white cloth sits around his waist, similar to those worn by the Egyptians, but shorter in length, ending at his upper thigh. A colorful woven sash ties around his waist, its ends laying neatly down the front of the kilt. A collar necklace of brightly colored feathers hangs around his neck and leather bands ring his calves, boasting bright feathers as well. Circular earrings adorn each ear and one simple gold bracelet rests on his left wrist. His hair, cropped just below his chin is ebony black and almost shiny in the dim light.

"A-Arnold," he repeats, and then his eyes move to look at Helga.

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" I repeat, noticing how bright his green eyes are—so bright it's almost as if they are glowing. No wonder they're called The Green Eyes.

Then he steps toward us again, reaching a hand out to me. "Eyu tchu Arnold?" he says, his voice sounding almost pleading.

"What?" I ask, searching my brain as if somewhere hidden inside it is the meaning of his words. As if I could translate it if only he'd repeat himself.

"Eyu tchu Arnold?"

"Sounds like gibberish to me," Helga states folding her arms across her chest in frustration. I shut my eyes as I repeat the phrase in my mind, trying to figure out what he's trying to say. Eyu tchu Arnold? The young man steps forward, drawing my attention back to him and causing Helga to have a rather defensive stance. For a second I'm afraid she's going to karate chop the guy.

"Hello," he says, speaking the word very slowly and meticulously. "I am Kishkumen. I am Green Eye."

"You speak English?" I exclaim in surprise.

"I am sorry," the young man says, speaking each word carefully still. "I not speak English in very long time. Out of practice."

"How do you know who I am?" I can't help but ask him. A thrill spreads through me at the fact that I am actually talking to one of the people I'm studying…one of the people my parents grew to love so well.

"They speak of you long ago when my people still here," he explains. "You quiet all nature when born. All know you."

"What do you mean by when your people were still here? Where are they now?" I ask, surprised that the Green Eyes are not only in hiding, but have somehow disappeared from one of their own as well.

"I do not know. Most disappeared many moons ago and those with me died of sleeping sickness. I am alone." His face remains emotionless, but his eyes register something much deeper and painful again. Then he begins wheezing and coughing harshly.

Helga winces at the sound and I see her fist clench. I know she's thinking of Brainy. Old habits die hard, I suppose. I close my hand around her fist to help her relax, a warmth rushing through me at the memory of our kiss. A kiss I've hardly even had a chance to think about.

Shaking my head, I turn back to him. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry," he replies, his voice weak from the episode. "I always have problem. Maybe it why I am left alone," he cracks a half smile, obviously trying to make a joke.

A twinge of pain grabs at my heart at his words. Left behind. How I knew that feeling so well. Being left behind by those you love, and feeling so alone because of it. I'm overwhelmed by the kinship and complete empathy I feel for this Green Eye man.

"They left you?" I ask, my voice quiet from the painful emotion raging through my heart.

"Yes."

"How long have you been alone?" I ask, almost fearing the answer. Helga stands there listening and watching us, an unreadably stoic expression on her face.

"Many, many years. I was maybe four years old when they disappeared. Only my uncle and I left."

I reach out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder but he backs away from the gesture. "What have you been doing all these years by yourself?"

"After my uncle died, I have been living alone," he replies, glancing away. "I come here to get fish and live nearby. Sometimes watch the village, but never go there."

"You live all alone?" I ask again.

"Yes," he says with a sad nod.

"Why don't you come stay with us?" I exclaim, feeling a little perk in my mood.

Kishkumen stares at me for a moment as if he doesn't know what to think of me or my offer. His brows crease slightly.

"You would be a great help with the work we are doing," I add, as a lame attempt to relieve some of the pressure he's probably feeling from my offer.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn slightly to see Helga looking at me with a nervous expression on her face. "Arnold—"

"What?" I ask, even though I already know what she's going to say.

"We don't really know the guy," she whispers to me. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's not a good idea, Helga," I reply with an irritated eyeroll. "It's a great idea. I'm sorry," I say, turning back to the man. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Kishkumen," he replies with a slight bow of his head.

"Nice to meet you. This is Helga. Helga, Kishkumen," I say with a twinge of smugness. "Now you know him."

Helga scrunches up her face in an irritated expression and I turn back to Kishkumen. "So you're coming right?"

"It would be honor," he replies with another nod of his head.

"Great!" I exclaim as an excited thrill travels through me. I glance at my watch and feel my eyes bug out in shock. "We'd better go now. The others are probably freaking out that we haven't gotten back yet."

* * *

It's a good thing I made sure I was very familiar with the areas surrounding the temple before Helga and I took our hike. After our fall, ride in the river and subsequent fall behind it, we were miles off course. But with a little help from Kishkumen and the knowledge I have of where our campsite was, I wasn't too worried.

"We've been walking for hours," Helga moans, kicking a rock belligerently.

I glance over to Kishkumen who has been pretty silent the whole time since we left the falls. He doesn't seem to be minding the distance much.

"Well, we did fall and take a river ride quite a long way, Helga," I reply with a shake of my head.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" she asks, glancing around nervously.

"I'm positive," I reply. Then as if on cue someone shouts our names from somewhere not too far away. "See?"

She rolls our eyes just as Richard and Soren come charging through the jungle brush.

"Arnold! Helga! We found you!" Richard exclaims, heaving a sigh of relief. "We were getting pretty worried."

"I wasn't. I kept telling everyone that you knew your way around this place," Soren states, crossing his arms. "Where were you guys anyway?"

"Playing baseball," Helga responds, shooting me a smug look.

An intense heat rushes over me at the memory of our kiss and even though my cheeks are burning, I can't help but smile back at her.

"Nice," Soren laughs, wagging his eyebrows at me.

"What is baseball?" I hear Kishkumen ask from behind me.

"Who's that behind you?" Soren cries, whipping a knife out of his boot and throwing it. It lands in the tree right next to Kishkumen's head.

"Soren!" I exclaim. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You missed," Kishkumen says, deadpan, pulling the knife out of the tree and returning it to Soren.

"I know, I meant to. I was only trying to scare you," he replies with a confident shrug.

"Sure, Soren. Sure," Helga scoffs.

"I did," he replies glaring at her. "Besides, what do you know? For all you know I'm an expert marksman."

Helga bursts out laughing and I can't help but let a little chuckle slide. Soren rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Well, I'm glad you missed," I exclaim, still in angered shock that Soren threw a knife at my new friend—at this new connection to the Green Eyes and my family.

"Who's your new friend?" Soren asks, turning to me.

"This is Kishkumen," I reply. Then turning to each man in turn I introduce Kishkumen to them. "He was left behind by the Green Eyes and has been living alone for a long time. I told him he could stay with us and help us with our work."

Soren smiles at him. "Nice to meet you. Sorry about the knife. You can never be too careful. You know lots of Green Eye history?"

"Yes," Kishkumen replies softy.

"I always love a good story," Soren says, turning around and heading for a nearby trailhead. "Maybe you can tell us about Wai-ki-ki on the way back."

"Wai-ki-ki?" Kishkumen asks, tipping his head to the side in confusion. "What is this 'Wai-ki-ki'?"

"He means Wadjmose," I reply with a disapproving shake of my head. "One thing you should know about Soren is that he never gets names right in our work."

"You'd think that would be a fireable offense," Helga quips from beside me.

"I heard that!" Soren hollers from the front of the group.

"Wadjmose?" Kishkumen asks.

Interesting. He doesn't know the name of the man who started his civilization. But then again…that was thousands of years ago, I really shouldn't be surprised the knowledge didn't survive that long.

"What? You don't know Wadjmose?" Soren exclaims, stopping mid-step and causing Richard to crash into him. "The would-be Pharaoh who left all of that to come here and start his own civilization?"

"Wadjmose is your ancestor," Richard adds quietly.

Kishkumen shoots them a puzzled look. "Wadjmose," he repeats slowly, letting each syllable slide over his tongue. Then he shakes his head. "I do not know him. We are all descendents of the god Netur-Wahje. I do not know this Wadjmose Wai-ki-ki."

"It's just Wadjmose," I explain. "Remember, Soren's not good at names."

"Says who?" Soren exclaims, putting his hands on his hips defiantly.

"Says everyone," states Richard, who immediately starts down the trail again.

"Eh, what do you guys know," Soren says waving us of. "Come on, Kokomo, we'll take you back to camp. Then you can tell us all about Netur-Wahje." Soren moves to put his arm around Kishkumen's shoulders, but he expertly moves away. Soren throws his hands up in apology. "Sorry. No touching. Got it."

Kishkumen bows his head slightly in acceptance. And we follow Richard through the jungle back to camp.

* * *

The jungle has grown dark. Clouds above us blot out the moon and stars. Only shadowy outlines of trees can be seen thanks to the light from the fire. But sitting amongst the warmth and companionship of our little group, it doesn't bother me.

"I thought the Green Eyes were gone," Richard states, biting into his smore, downing it in only two bites.

"Many are. As far as I know, I am only one left," Kishkumen explains, that saddened look entering his eyes again. "At least here."

"Where did the rest go?" Antoinette asks, handing Kishkumen the makings for a smore.

"I do not know," he replies, pinching a marshmallow, testing it's texture. His face scrunches up as he stares at it. "I was out with my uncle hunting and when returned all the others were gone."

"So you've been alone for how long?" Antoinette asks in a saddened voice.

"Fifteen years," he replies, still squishing the marshmallow. "My uncle got sleeping sickness and eventually all but me died and I was alone."

"Oh, you poor thing!" Sandy exclaims, her hand over her heart. "I'll make you something delicious to eat," she says, taking the marshmallow from his hand and placing it with graham crackers and chocolate. Kishkumen watches in utter fascination.

"She's probably gonna adopt him next," Soren comments aside to me. "See why I didn't want to go help in town? I wasn't kidding."

"I guess not," Helga says, and we exchange looks before laughing together. My heart burns brightly at just the sight of her and the memory of our moments together. Even with all the excitement of meeting a Green Eye, I've been thinking of nothing else but Helga and our kiss. Of what it could mean for us. Of the possible future that awaits us. I glance at her again, my cheeks pinking up at the memory of her kiss on my lips.

"So Coconut, as a Green Eye do you know how to tame jaguars and stuff?" Soren asks, leaning back casually in his chair, but an air of excitement over the coming answer still lingering in his presence.

Kishkumen stares at him with a rather appalled expression on his face.  
"My name is Kishkumen. And we do not tame jaguars. They are sacred animals. They are meant to be free."

"Bummer," Soren says, tossing a stick into the fire.

"What, did you want one as a pet or something?" Richard asks.

A slight apprehension enters my brain each time I hear Richard's voice. I still don't know if I had a vision or a dream or what. I don't really know who's side he's truly on. Eduardo joins us at the fire—a welcome distraction from the momentary dark thoughts entering my mind.

"Aw, if it isn't Eduardo," Helga says in her faux nice voice that I know all too well. "How nice of you to join us." She slugs him in the arm.

"Don't punch him! He's old and frail!" Antoinette exclaims.

"I am not old and frail. Tratándome como un anciano..." Eduardo says while staring up at the sky and shaking his head.

"Why are you punching Eduardo, Helga?" Sandy reprimands with a motherly scowl.

"Because thanks to his stupid recommendation we almost died." Helga throws her stick into the fire dramatically and kicks at a rock nearby.

"Didn't _anything_ good come from it though, Helga?" Sandy questions, putting a hand on her hip and waiting expectantly.

I glance at Helga, my cheeks burning and she glances back with a meaningful smirk. Soren raises an eyebrow at us, but doesn't say anything.

"Oh, the baseball?" Kishkumen asks, nodding with understanding.

Helga and I can't help but laugh. The laughter helps to release the tension I felt only moments ago.

"Are we the first people you've run into?" Antoinette asks, pulling the conversation away again. Thankfully.

"Sometimes, after passing of others, I would sneak near villages and listen to the people. But I never go." Kishkumen stares into the fire, deep in recollection.

"Is that how you know how to speak English?" Sandy asks, handing him another s'more (even though he has yet to eat the first).

"I was taught English from the elders. I also speak Spanish," he adds, holding the s'mores up to his face and staring at them with a scrunched up face.

"And how did you learn Spanish?" Antoinette asked, raising an impressed eyebrow.

"Spanish I learned from my uncle and aunt. When he was young man, he was out hunting for our people. He came to a campsite that was destroyed by animals." His voice is soothing and melodic as he shares the story with us. The only other sounds are the crackling of the fire and the occasionally breeze in the trees. "The only survivor he found was a beautiful lady," he continues. "He fell in love with her at first sight. They could not understand each other, but both felt the same. He carried her back to our city. The elders did not want her to stay. Our people want to live separate from the outside, living in secret places. They did not want an outsider here. But my uncle, Zezemonekh, he had to work hard to make them understand. But they allowed her to stay, but only she swore to stay with our people and never reveal our secrets. She did so very well. They teach me the language at very young age and when my uncle and I were separate from the rest, he continued to teach me. But I fear I am just as out of practice with Spanish."

"But you never went into the villages or anything? You know to talk to people?" I ask, trying not to glance at Helga for the millionth time.

Kishkumen shakes his head. "I only went close enough to hear them. I listened and watched. But I never approach them before." He looks up at me. "But you, Arnold, you are different."

"Why?" I ask, feeling everyone's eyes on me and a sort of nervous apprehension grows in my belly.

"Because we know of you. All Green Eyes know of you. Your parents—"

My heart races suddenly at that. "Did you know my parents?" I almost beg, the yearning to learn more of them as strong as ever.

"I do not remember them, no." He gives me almost a guilty, sad expression, almost as if he knows the years of pain I've suffered at their absence. "But when I was baby, your mother's magic potion healed me."

"You mean her medicine?" I correct.

He shakes his head. "Magic medicine." He closes his eyes a moment and breathes deeply. "Your parents were spoken of often—'Guardians of the Green Eyes'. It is most sacred calling."

"'Guardians of the Green Eyes? My parents?" I repeat, in a hushed, awed tone.

"Yes. They saved many lives with their magic medicine. They were a blessing from the gods."

I bite back a wave of emotion that takes over me. That familiar ache in my chest twinges inside. My eyes feel dry with pushed back tears. To know that in some small way this Green Eye knew my parents is almost too much to bear. I'm grateful when Sandy interrupts the moment with a plate of steaming food.

"Foods ready," Sandy calls, handing the plate to Kishkumen. "Here you go, sweetie."

Soren makes an irritated sound "Sandy, he's like 30 years old. He's not a sweetie."

Anyone who'se had to live alone as long as he is a sweetie," she replies with a shake of her head, her nose in the air.

"You know we can't adopt him right?" Soren grumbles under his breath.

But his wife's ears are like radars; they never miss a thing. "Says who?" she tosses back, placing a hand on her hip.

But Soren's only response is an exhausted face into his palm.

* * *

Kishkumen would not allow me to set up a tent for him. He explained to me that he would prefer to lie under the stars and be close to nature, as opposed to being trapped in the "something" fabric of the tent. So after he was settled, I walked back to the other side of camp, noticing that everyone else had retired to their tents as well.

The fire still glowed brightly in the darkness of the jungle. Aside from the moon and stars, it was the only light. Walking around the fire, looking for the bucket of water to douse the fire with, I almost trip over Helga.

"Head in the clouds as usual, eh, Football Head?" she smiles up at my mischievously before gesturing for me to sit next to her.

"I didn't expect anyone's long legs to be sprawled out in my path," I reply, sitting down next to her and resting my elbows back on a log.

"What about someone's short legs?" she quips, sliding up from the ground, and scooting next to me. _Very_ close to me, our sides pressed together, my hand now resting on her shoulder—every fiber in me suddenly hot and tingling at the simple touch.

"What? Like Ernie Potts-style legs?" I quip, nervous sweat on my brow.

She breaks out into amused laughter, before reaching over and swatting me on the chest. "You dork!" It's all I can do not to react to her increased touch.

What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to throw an arm around her and pull her close? Maybe brush away that little curl stuck on her cheek? Or am I supposed to hold her hand? Or kiss her again? I don't know where we stand or what we are or how she's even feeling about me. All I know is I am hopeless in love with the woman—this perfect woman for me—and I'm a mess of complete confusion.

"Pretty crazy, too, huh?" I manage to say, hoping my voice sounds much more casual than I feel. Somehow—without scaring her away—I've gotta figure out what's going on between us—where she stands.

"I'll say," she comments, tossing a tiny stick into the fire. "I knew that damn hike was going to be the death of me."

"But you lived," I reply, amused at her endless complaining about the hike.

"Did I?" she answers, deadpan.

"What?" I laugh, endlessly amused by her antics.

"Haha, I don't know. I'm just kidding." She shrugs causing her shoulders to slip deeper into my side. "I'm probably getting a little slap-happy from exhaustion."

I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and a kind of overwhelming intensity moving through me…almost like an urgency. I need to know what she's thinking!

"Pretty crazy too what happened behind the waterfall, huh?" I say as casually as I can.

"Oh my gosh, I know!" she exclaims bringing her hands to her cheeks for a second.

My heart races. Does this mean our kiss meant as much to her as it did me?

Meeting an actual Green Eye!" she continues, and I'm immediately deflated. "I honestly never thought I'd get to do that. I mean, I've got so many questions! I think I'm gong to have to do a whole article just on Kishkumen and his people!"

"Oh, well, you'd probably want to make sure he'd be okay with that first," I reply, trying not to sound as disappointed as I feel.

She turns to look at me, her cheek forced to lie on my shoulder from our position. "Why wouldn't he be okay with it?"

"I don't know." I shake my head. "I mean the guy doesn't like to be touched, so who knows what other hang ups he might have."

"Eh, I'll be convincing. I'm not worried about it." She turns back to the fire and I breathe a soft sigh of relief.

"Not to mention the fact that the Green Eyes are a very secretive and mysterious people," I add. "Maybe they don't want all their secrets revealed to the world."

"I don't have to reveal all their secrets. Just share a little about them."

"I guess." I sigh.

"What's up, Arnold?" she says, pulling up into a straighter sitting position, her knees pulled to her chest, as she leans on them and turns toward me. "You don't seem yourself."

"I'm probably just tired. It was a long, exhausting day," I reply, avoiding eye contact with her.

I can feel her eyes probing all the same though. "Eh, I don't buy it. What's bugging you?"

 _As if you don't know_. How could she _not_ know? Does she kiss guys all the time—share moments with them—so ours meant nothing? What is going on? I'm dying to know.

"What are me?" I blurt out, surprising myself, and almost immediately regretting the outburst.

"What do you mean?" she asks, a breeze blowing her hair gently, the firelight glinting off its golden color. Man, she's beautiful!

"You _know_ what I mean, Helga," I reply, feeling perturbed as I toss a rock into the fire. "We kissed. _What are we?_ What does it mean?"

She pauses long enough that I look over to her. She meets my gaze, an expression I can't read on her face. "Why do we need to be something officially? Why not just take this one day at a time?"

 _Because I'm not that kind of person,_ I want to say. _Because I can't handle just being_ whatever. _Because my mind if a constant mess of emotions and feelings for her that are hard to keep inside. Because I want her to be mine._

But I don't actually say any of that out loud and without a response from me Helga changes the subject. "Are you guys going to work on the temple tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Good. I really want to hear more about the wall inscriptions—"

As she slips into more about her article and the things she likes to learn about our work, I can only stare into the fire. Breathing deeply and trying desperately to contain the flame in my heart in honor of us being…whatever we are. I'm disappointed…maybe even a little heartbroken, but I'll take this at her pace if that's what she wants. I just hope it will be worth it in the end.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hey guys! So sorry for the long hiatus! This was literally the summer from hell, but I think I mentioned that before.

On a positive note, our little family is going to be growing by one. I was sick for all of July and August, though that's another reason this is so delayed. But hopefully now I can get back to updated every 2-3 weeks like I was before.

Hope you guys like this chapter! There's so much to come! And I can't believe (or even describe my excitement) that in two months (or less) this is going to have to become an official AU! Whoop! Can't wait for TJM! But do let me know if you'll still read this even after the movie comes out, I am a little worried.

XOXO!

Arnold's Love


	19. Kishkumen

_**The Shadow Around His Heart**_

 _ **By: Arnold's Love**_

* * *

Chapter 18: "Kishkumen"

"So are you going to tell me what you're reading or what?" Helga asks, coming to stand next to me and gesturing towards the temple wall.

I've been so preoccupied translating and documenting the hieroglyphs in one of the upstairs room of the temple that I almost forgot she was there with me. With a chuckle, I turn to smile at her, loving her sudden nearness. "I just assumed you'd think it was all some boring mumbo jumbo."

Feigning insult, she rolls her eyes, and sticks her nose in my face. A smirk takes over her lips and she wiggles her eyebrows at me. "I'm insulted that you think so little of me. And here I thought you and I were on the same page."

 _Definitely not_. If we were on the same page I'd be kissing her right now and calling her my girlfriend. Instead she's just the woman I'm in love with and that I kissed once behind a waterfall after we almost died. _And_ if we were on the same page I wouldn't be resisting every urge in me to remedy all that.

I shoot her a smirk back, goosebumps erupting over my arms as her breath tickles my cheek. "After the way you complained about the hike, I just assumed you'd find this boring."

"I don't find anything you say boring," she states, her blues eyes gazing intensely into mine.

I can't tell if she's joking or serious. "Oh, is that so? Well, in that case, did you know—" I reply, in what I hope is a deep, seductive voice—"in Ancient Egypt the priests plucked every hair from their bodies—including their eyebrows and eyelashes?"

"I'm hanging on your every word," she whispers in reply, her face merely an inch from mine.

I want to kiss her more than anything. But can I kiss her? Should I kiss her? She never said I couldn't kiss her. What were her words exactly? Something about not being anything official. Unofficial. I'm not familiar with what that means anymore. Does that mean I'm supposed to kiss her? Does it even mean she wants me to kiss her? Does she want me to kiss her? How am I supposed to know? Why can we just be something official? Why do I have to play these guessing games?

Oh right, because it's Helga and nothing is ever simple with her. Why should I expect anything different? And, would I want anything different from Helga? Because if she wasn't the enigma she is, would I have even fallen this hard and fast for her?

She bumps her shoulder into mine, pulling away after doing so. Missed the moment. Her eyes are on the ancient mural before us. "Okay, seriously, tell me about this room or this temple or something. I've already taken all the pictures I need and then some, so give me something tantalizing to go with them."

"Um, okay," I begin, trying to decide where to start as I swallow down the excess moisture in my mouth. How am I ever supposed to be able to concentrate on my work with this girl around?

I force my mind back over the day. There's been so much that I translated just today, and Sandy translated quite a bit yesterday while we were hiking. It's almost overwhelming, but entirely exciting. Though nothing like the excitement that Helga stirs inside me. I glance at her again, the delicate, shadowed light emphasizing all the right places.

 _Stop it!_

Squeezing my eyes shut again, I clear my throat. "So this temple, it would seem, was dedicated to the god of the afterlife, Ahnepu. The room downstairs was essentially a mortuary where they prepared the dead."

"Ahnepu…" Helga repeats thoughtfully. "Let's see…he was the one who was killed by his brother, right? In that mythology story Eduardo told us."

"Yes. Over there," I continue pointing to an adjacent wall, "it talks about his story—before and after death. And then it describes him as the ruler of the regions of the dead as well as their guide to the afterlife."

"So guy gets murdered by his brother, then becomes the ruler of the afterlife," she quips, elbowing me gently in the side. "I'd say things worked out pretty well for him."

I chuckle lightly. "Just from reading the things written in here—so far at least—I think the story of Ahnepu appeals to the Green Eyes because it's about a man who died, and then lived again—forever. Kind of gives a person hope and maybe a little less fear of death."

"Makes sense. Lots of religions have a similar story basis. Death, the eternal end can be a scary thing to come to terms with. I'm sure we all deal with it in our own ways."

"Right."

"What's all this about?" she asks pointing to one of the murals I've been working on today. A jaguar-headed figure is pictured leaning over a body resting on a table. Pottery surrounds the table and a few priest-like figures stand nearby holding more pots and tools.

"Well, all this details their funerary rituals," I reply, gesturing to the huge wall in front of us.

"it looks the same as the Egyptians," she comments, moving to stand closer to me, her eyes moving over the painting slowly. Our arms are touching causing a tingling warmth the erupt over my entire body.

"There are definitely similarities you can see, but they've obviously developed their own traditions and assimilated tidbits from other cultures around them."

I look over at her, our arms still touching. Her bright blue eyes are gazing at me. For a minute I think about wrapping my arms around her again, but instead I wiggle my shoulders and turn back to the wall.

"So in order to be presented to the god Ahnepu, the body had to be prepared just so. It seems for the soul to have pleasure in the afterlife it had to be able to reunite with the body. So their hope was to preserve the body at much as possible.

"Unlike Egyptians, they left all the organs in tact. They believed that since they needed them in this life, they would need them in the body in the afterlife to truly live fully again. The body was covered with oils and perfumes. Exactly what they used I'm not sure. It doesn't translate straight into English and the research just isn't there yet. Suffice it to say it was oils, perfumes, or possible naturally occurring chemicals." Helga's eyes are still intently on me, so I swallow and continue. "But what I can tell is that they were part of the rituals and protected the body from bacteria and insects. Next, just like the Egyptians, they were wrapped in bandages while sacred amulets were placed between the wrappings. The amulets were for protection and blessings. After the body was wrapped, the priests recited prayers and burned copal incense.

"The wealthy were buried with jewelry, trinkets, and intricate Jade masks, carved to look like the deceased. Those of any class were buried with their most prized possessions—whether of great monetary worth or of great sentimental value." I pause for a moment and slip my hand into my pocket, feeling one of my own most prized possessions kept safely there."

"Did they believe they could take those things with them to the afterlife?" Helga asks, forcing me to meet her gaze again.

"The amulets were meant to protect the body for the soul. It doesn't say whether or not they were expected to be used in the afterlife. But from what I've translated, their possessions were expected to go with them to the afterlife. It's the reason they would choose to be buried with those things."

She nods and finally looks back to the wall, and I breathe a little sigh of relief before pointing to a few more figures painted on the wall. "They also had a ceremony similar to the opening of the mouth the Egyptians conducted. A priest would say a prayer and touch the dead with a ceremonial blade. The idea was that this ensured that the mummy could breathe and speak in the afterlife.

"Then it would seem the body was placed in a small family tomb. From the description I think they were small tombs…more like the mausoleums in New Orleans and less like the huge tombs of the Egyptians."

"Did it say anything about what they expected in the afterlife?" Helga asks, turning around to lean her back against the wall.

"If it does I haven't gotten to that part yet. But obviously these practices were just as sacred and important to them as it was to the ancient Egyptians. It seems like this temple was, at one time, one of the most important of all. So it's strange to me that they would use it to bury 'the evil one' and then desert the temple entirely. Why this temple? Why not just bury him?" I furrow my brow, the question still nagging at the back of my mind. _Why?_

"Maybe they assumed Ahnepu, being the god of the afterlife, could help protect them from him…to help keep others from releasing him. You know, since he's supposed to be a pretty bad dude," she replies thoughtfully and I can't help but nod in agreement.

She moves to the other side of me so she can continue studying the images on the wall. "It's amazing how beautiful these pictures are for such an evil place. The juxtaposition is a little overwhelming. I mean, that guy is supposed to be really bad, right? How can such an evil guy be buried here where there was obviously so much love and patience put into these pictures."

I nod in agreement, looking at the image of the priest standing over the dead. "Just like every ancient culture, it just shows how much their beliefs ruled them. They abandoned this place and even put up that warning so people would never come back here, knowing full well that this was never meant for anyone to see again, closed off forever in fear of the evil one coming back."

"It's a good thing this isn't real though," she laughs. "Can you imagine a walking corpse? I know you like the movie, Football Head, but I would kill you if you made me actually live out 'The Mummy'. Just be careful not to read in any books that talk about death and bringing people back to life."

I grin at her. "I promise."

* * *

By lunchtime the jungle is sweltering and humid as usual. I plop down in a seat by the fire pit and stretch out my legs in front of me. Pulling off my hat I let it slide lazily to the ground beside me as I heave an exhausted sigh. A stream of water hits me in the eye. Blinking, I glance next to me see Sawyer grinning at me, a squirt gun in his hand, aimed at my face.

"You seemed hot," he states, grinning mischievously at me.

"Lucky for you, I was," I say with a wink.

"Good!" he shouts, squirting my in the face again, squirting Helga, and then running to the opposite side of the fire pit and plopping down into a seat.

"Where's Eduardo?" Sandy asks, setting a plate down in front of him.

"He said he wanted some medication time—" Sawyer begins, mouth already full of food, squirt gun quickly forgotten.

"Meditation," Sandy corrects with an amused smile.

"Yah, medication time," Sawyer repeats, obviously missing the correction. "So he went fishing in the river."

"Well, that's nice," Sandy comments, placing a second plate in front of Ramses.

"Why do people eat fish?" Ramses asks, taking a bit of his sandwich and chewing with his mouth open.

"Because they are very good for your body," Soren explains matter-of-factly.

"Yah," Sawyer begins, nodding to his brother, his voice taking on a instructional tone. "You catch them and then if it's still alive you bring it home and you put it in the oven to cook it and it flops around in the oven until it cooks and then it dies and you eat it.""

Sandy's eyes widen and a disturbed grimace takes over her face. "Um...who told you that?"

"Daddy said that," Sawyer states, taking another bite of his lunch unperturbed.

"Gross," Sandy groans, looking disgusted. She's not a huge fan of fish anyway, and Sawyer's description has obviously added to her distaste. I chuckle softly.

"Yah, and I just wanted to throw up!" Sawyer exclaims, gagging and making throw up sounds.

"I didn't tell him that!" Soren retorts from his spot across the fire, an offended expression on his face.

"I would hope not," Sandy replies; the rest of us laughing in amusement.

"That sounds like something _you_ would teach him, Mrs. I-don't-like-fish," Soren states in a mocking high-pitched voice, narrowing his eyes at his wife.

"I like fish if it doesn't taste like fish. I had good salmon once that didn't taste fishy. And you shouldn't act so bad-ass. You grew up in Alaska. Now you're so spoiled that you won't eat fish anywhere that isn't a coast."

"Only because my wife won't cook it for me," Soren smirks back. "You know because she's terrified of fish and scales and—"

"Dude! Don't diss your wife's cooking or we'll all be screwed!" Richard hollers at his friend, throwing his fork at him. It hits Soren squarely in the forehead.

"Hey, little man, what happened to your pants?" Helga asks as Sawyer climbs over to sit next to her, nonchalantly pushing me aside to do so.

I glance down to see what she's talking about and notice that his shorts are literally torn down one leg, the entire inseam coming apart.

"Oh, they tore when I was climbing that tree over there," Sawyer replies as if it's not a big deal at all that his entire leg is exposed.

"Lemme see," Sandy says, walking over and kneeling in front of her son. "Make sure you lay those on my bed tonight so I can fix them."

"Yah, sure," Sawyer replies, before pushing me aside again and immediately running off towards the tree line.

"Don't forget!" Sandy calls after him.

"He's gonna forget, isn't he?" I ask with a chuckle.

"Oh, most likely," Sandy replies with a tired sigh. "And with my mommy brain I'll probably forget, too. I can't wait until we can get back to town to buy some new clothes. There's only so much mending I can do before it's like sewing rags together." She stands back up before turning to look at me and then to Soren. "When do you think we can go back to town?"

"Eduardo and I were talking about that today, actually," Soren says. "We're talking about going there tomorrow to check things out. If all seems well, I'd say you can take a big trip to buy clothes and whatever anytime you want."

"Oh, that's exciting! I need some clothes, too, and chocolate. I don't want to eat too much of Sandy's stash," Antoinette exclaims with a dramatic sigh. Glancing over to Kishkumen who is quietly eating his lunch she adds, "Kishkumen, how do you get such nice clothes if you never go into town? What's your secret? Your clothes look really good for living on your own without a washing machine. How do you keep them looking so new and clean?"

Everyone looks to him, equally curious.

"All people are taught to sew at very young age. My aunt was very talented and she taught me. When my people disappeared, I had knowledge to sew and can make clothes whenever I need them. We are also very good at cooking."

"Maybe you could teach us to make clothes so we don't have to rely on going to town so much," Antoinette replies with a smile. "It does feel like such a waste of time sometimes to send an entire day's work in town."

"Making my own clothes sounds like way too much work," Helga comments with a smirk, scooting back next to me again.

"You never know when the knowledge could come in handy," I reply. "What if you got lost out here? You'd definitely benefit from the know-how."

"Patakis never get lost." She folds her arms and leans back confidentially.

"Really, because I remember one time during this camping trip—"

"Shut up, you know-it-all," she chides, with a playful smack on my shoulder. "Do you always have to have a comeback?"

"Only when I'm dealing with a Pataki. My childhood taught me well." I waggle my eyebrows at her teasingly.

"Har har." She gives a good-natured eye roll.

"So, Kishkumen, speaking of your knowledge, would you be willing to teach me a few Green Eyed recipes?" Sandy asks, smiling pleasantly at him. "I really love learning meals from the different cultures we visit. I would be honored if you'd teach me."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Do you like Green Eyed food? Would you, could you in a box? Would you, could you with a fox?" Soren pipes up.

Silence answers him as we all stare in confusion.

"Would you could you on a train? Or in the rain or in a plane?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask him, shaking my head in confusion.

"What? It sounded like when Sam-I-Am asks the weird looking Dr. Suess guy if he likes green eggs and ham," he explains, rolling his eyes at our stupidity.

"Riiiiight," Helga replies before turning to me. "So are we heading back to the temple or what? There's only so much non-related Dr. Suess reference I can take."

Chuckling I glance down at my watch I realize I've spent enough time for lunch. "Yep, let's go."

* * *

"Are you sure this is edible?" I ask, staring down at the rough bark I just pulled off a tree deep within the jungle. Startled I fling the thing into the air when a spider crawls out of a hole in the bark and onto my hand. I gag and grimace, sticking my tongue out in abhorrence.

Chuckling, Kishkumen walks over and picks up the bark, adding it to his leather pouch. "Yes, it is edible. You must cut off the rough, dead part and then the inside is soft. You will see."

I shrug and begin cutting a few more pieces off the tree, watching with sharp eyes for more spiders. Kishkumen and I have been out in the jungle gathering supplies for a traditional Green Eye recipe he plans to make for us. "I can't believe Sandy is letting you cook for us. Last time she let anyone else cook…well, it was a disaster."

"That is too bad. This would probably be Soren who cooked and caused this disaster."

"And you would be correct," I laugh out loud. Only a week with us and Kishkumen has Soren pegged.

"Shh!" Kishkumen whispers, stopping in his tracks and holding a hand up to signal for me to be quiet. "You hear that?"

I shake my head, and he points in the distance, listening. I listen too. At first all I hear is the rustling of the breeze in the jungle canopy, and the buzzing of insects. But then something else disturbs the natural sounds. A distressed squealing sound, echoing in the distance.

"It is in trouble," Kishkumen states with a forlorn look.

"But how do we find it? It sounds like it's coming from everywhere."

"There are ways," Kishkumen replies, closing his eyes and listening for a moment. "We will track. Follow me."

He moves quickly through the jungle foliage, every step he makes barely making a sound. I follow his example and do my best to keep up with him, the intense expression on his face revealing his deep concern for the animal in danger somewhere in the forest.

Kishkumen pauses frequently to look at low hanging branches, or smell the air, or look at the dark, moist jungle soil. Whatever it is he sees is only apparent to him. To an untrained eye like me, it doesn't look like anything special and I am left to wonder what exactly it is that he sees, but to Kishkumen it tells him everything he needs to know and it seems to re-motivate him and sends him quickly on his way.

Finally, he pauses in a clearing, his eyes fiery with anger. " _Sheney_!" he exclaims angrily in his own tongue.

I still don't see anything in the clearing. But then I hear the squeal of a wild pig, the sound of which seems like it's coming from under ground. Kishkumen moves forward slowly, testing the ground with each step, until finally he kneels and begins moving leaves and branches away, revealing a large hole in the ground. Kneeling beside him I peer inside and see a young pig down inside, it's frightened eyes gazing up at us.

" _Sheney_!" Kishkumen exclaims again angrily.

And I remember reading in my journal about when my parents were given our pet pig Abner as a wedding gift. Pigs are considered special to the Green Eyes. I can see by his anger that this was no accident.

Glancing back to the trapped pig, my heart aches for it. It looks so much like my sweet little Abner. It squeals again moving erratically around in the hole, desperately trying to escape and gazes at me with fear in its eyes.

"We must free it and it heal. Look. The leg is wounded," Kishkumen says, peering down into the hole. He begins speaking softly to it in his own language, as he glances around for a means to free it. " _Ma eyarr zenejetu, Nedjez Shah. Tuu medew nefre."_

"Is this a trap?" I ask, looking to Kishkumen.

"Yes." He gazes at the hole solemnly. "It is to trap for hunting. But, this is for laziness. Real hunters must respect jungle and all who live in it. We ust h unt for some animals, but not all. The hunter of this rap cannot control which animal falls in and does not care about what falls in. Lazy! And now they harm the sacred ones. Many times they come too late and cannot eat it." He shakes his head, a disappointed anger evident on his face.

"Who would do that?" I ask, feeling sorry for the poor little pig as it squeals again. The hole is quite deep and our lack of supplies will prove to make its rescue a challenge.

"There are many men who hurt the animals in this jungle. It is not so surprising these days." A sad look passes over his green eyes briefly. "It makes me sad. I have heard stories of long ago when our people were safely secluded and all animals and plants—all souls—were respected and treated properly. But now. It is not so."

I nod somberly. It is only so true that society thinks only of itself. A little bit of my heart aches to know and to experience those days that Kishkumen speaks of.

"We can use this plant as a rope."

I glance to where he points. A long, jungle vine hangs down from the tree beside him and I can't get the images of swinging on it like Tarzan out of my mind. I watch as Kishkumen climbs up the tree. So spritely, in fact, it's as if it's no challenge at all. He cuts the vine down in one swift movement before landing with a soft thud next to me.

"Come," he says, picking up the vine and carrying it over to the pit. Kneeling down next to the hole, he ties the vine around his waist. He drops the other end down into the hole, gesturing that I should climb down and retrieve the pig.

Once down inside, I carefully coax the pig to me. The little limp in his step is more evident at this proximity. When I pick him up, he squeals but does not put up much of a fight. My guess is he is exhausted for fear, pain, and perhaps even hunger, depending on how long he has been in that hole.

Kishkumen pulls us up slowly. Once on my feet again I hand the little pig to him. He cradles it gently and begins speaking calmingly to it in his own tongue and I smile at his compassion.

My heart pricks again as the poor little pig makes a tired, sad sound. "I can't believe someone would do this," I state, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Arnold, you are very much like your parents," he says quietly, drawing my attention back up to his face, his deep green eyes meeting mine.

"But I thought you didn't know them," I reply, curious as to what made him say that.

"I did not. Only through stories from my aunt and uncle." He shrugs gently, wrapping a cloth around the little piglet. "But they are legends. They saved our people many times and were fearless and compassionate, just like you. I think they would have saved this pig, too." He strokes the bridge of its nose gently and it wearily closes its eyes.

My heart pinches inside me and I swallow a lump in my throat as I think about my parents and all the stories I know of them saving others.

Others. But never there for me, in the end. Just gone forever. Gone because they went out to save others with little concern for me.

I know Kishkumen is right. They would have stopped to save this pig as well. They would have succeeded too, just like we will. But it doesn't help the ache inside my heart at the loss of opportunities I should have had. I glance over to Kishkumen and notice he is watching me thoughtfully and suddenly all I want is to talk about my parents with someone. Anyone. Someone who knows more about them than my teammates or even Helga. Someone who had a connection with them—even if they were a child at the time.

"I wish I could have known them." I blurt out the words before I even realize that I've said them. "I wish that I could have had them in my life while growing up."

Kishkumen nods, his green eyes clouded with sympathy. "I understand. My aunt and uncle...they were wonderful. I am grateful for them to raise me. But I have always felt something was missing because I did not have my parents with me. It is strange thing not to have them in your life."

"My grandparents raised me," I reply, looking down at the ground for a moment. It's too hard to look him in the eyes and see that sympathy. Somehow that only makes the pain inside my increase tenfold. "A bit unconventionally maybe, but they loved me and always put me first."

"Unconventionally?" he repeats, tipping his head like a confused puppy.

"Oh, yes," I reply, remembering his English is a bit limited. "It means they were a bit crazy and outside of what's considered normal or accepted."

He nods in understanding. "But it was not the same?" he asks, though his voice already speaks to his understanding of the feeling. Slowly we begin walking back towards the trail to camp.

"No. It's not the same as being raised by your parents. I'd see all the other kids in my class and maybe they didn't have _both_ their parents they hAD at least had one. And then there was me." I swallow a lump in my throat before continuing. "I didn't have either. I couldn't even remember what it was like to have them—I was just a baby when they left. And there was always something missing…I just never felt whole." I pause, the tumult of emotion overwhelming me. "Sorry, I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this."

Kishkumen gives me a soft smile. "In many ways it was lonely even with my aunt and uncle. I was only children with no brothers or sisters. I understand."

I stop in my tracks looking at him with such gratitude. "Yes exactly!" I exclaim, feeling validated in my feelings for the first time in my life. "No one's ever understood that before. Even my best friend Gerald thought I was crazy for feeling that way. But he had a big family so he had no idea what it was like. He couldn't even begin to relate."

"Yes," he says thoughtfully, "It is something that must be understad only by living yourself."

"Sadly, I think that's true," I reply, "But it's something I wouldn't wish on anyone. I'm sorry that you can understand that feeling. I'm sorry you have that pain."

"We all have pain we do not want on anyone," he says, an ominous sound in his voice. I glance at him noticing the dark shade of his eyes and the almost pained expression on his face. But it is gone just as fast as it was there.

I nod, walking quietly next to him for a few minutes. The ache in my heart isn't gone. It will never be gone. But somehow, it feels like the burden has been lightened a bit. As if Kiskkumen is helping my carry it somehow.

"I'm glad I met you," I tell him quietly, waiting a moment before meeting his green gaze once more.

"And I you, Arnold," he replies softly.

And I smile at this new friend, who is someone that can finally understand my deep-seeded feelings of loneliness and despair and maybe even desertion.

A surprisingly cool breeze tickles my hair, and almost sends a shiver up my spine. Glancing at the sky, I'm surprised not to find the darkening clouds of a coming storm like I expected, but a bright azure glow. Ignoring the urge to shiver again, I follow after Kishkumen as he moves silently through the jungle.

* * *

"Did you bring us a pet, Kishkumen?" Sawyer's excited voice exclaims in my ear as we work to finish bandaging the little pig.

"It's not a pet," I reply, sitting back on my heels to make sure the little pig's leg is wrapped well. "We found him in a trap and Kishkumen rescued him."

" _We_ rescued him, _together_ ," Kishkumen corrects with a soft smile. "Arnold was the one who climbed down into pit and get him."

"A pit? Like in 'Swiss Family Robinson'?" Sawyer exclaims. "Can we make one and catch a jaguar!"

"Yah, a jaguar!" Ramses echoes in a raspy, but excited voice.

"No jaguars," Sandy says firmly. "Aren't you concerned that whoever made it will come back? Or that they are dangerous?"

"No," Kishkumen replies. "It was old pit. Plants were growing back. You should not worry."

"Well, I'll try not to."

"She won't succeed," Soren says, coming to stand next to his wife. "She's like Queen of Paranoia."

Sandy doesn't respond, likely because she knows he's right. Instead she kneels down to look at the piglet. "Aw, he's a cutie!" she says, reaching out to the pig who nuzzles her hand gently.

"Mom, can we keep it?" Sawyer asks, peering into his mother's face desperately.

"Only until his leg is healed," Kishkumen states before she can answer. "Then he must go home."

"Aw, nuts," Sawyer says, kicking the dirt dejectedly.

"Either way, I'm calling this little guy Rumsfield until he has to go home," Sandy says, petting him and giggling as he snorts playfully.

"Rumsfield?" I ask, confused at the random name.

"Yah, it's from one of my favorite movies 'The Burbs'. It's one of the characters. I always wanted a cat named Rumsfield. I just thought it was such a good name for a pet."

"If you say so," Helga's voice answers from behind me. "So the prodigal Football Head returns. And with a little trophy, I see." She elbows me with a playful raise of her eyebrows.

"Kishkumen, will you play with us again?" Ramses asks, gazing up at him with little pleading puppy-dog eyes.

"Yes, that would be enjoyable," Kishkumen replies, following the kids over to a clearing nearby.

The kids choose to play tag with him, but it seems hard on Kishkumen. After a while he pauses, hacking painfully as if he can hardly breathe. Helga and I glance at each other concerned. Is he sick? Should we be concerned?

"Sure seems like Kishkumen might have asthma doesn't it?" Richard remarks, stoking the firepit.

Asthma. I hadn't thought of that being the reason for his coughing. Even when we were trekking through the forest and he had to stop a few times to catch his breath. A pang of guilt tickles my gut when I realize I should have thought of that myself.

"Granted, I doubt the Green Eyes are aware of what asthma is or how to treat it," Richard continues, sitting back in his chair thoughtfully.

Sometimes when Richard speaks I get flashes of my vision. But like always, I shake my head. I was wrong; it wasn't him. It had been dark and Richard's been with us almost constantly so logically it didn't even make sense. There's no way it could be him. But then who else is working with La Sombra? How many others are there out there?

After a few more minutes Kishkumen heads back over, obviously completely spent from his game with the boys. Sawyer and Ramses, however, continue running around and giggling in the clearing.

"Are you okay, dear? Here, have a glass of water. Dinner's almost ready." Sandy hands Kishkumen a cup and I can't help but chuckle slightly at the way she practically mothers him like a little child.

"He's not a little baby," Soren remarks, with a dramatic eyeroll.

"I know. Can you go tell the boys it's time to eat?" Sandy says, pulling a pan way from the heat of the stove.

"BOYS, IT'S TIME FOR DINNER!" he hollers, nearly knocking me off my chair in shock.

I rub my ear painfully and look at him with a scowl. "Thanks for the gift of deafness, Soren."

Sandy groans and rolls her eyes. "If I wanted to tell them obnoxiously, I could have done that myself."

But it seems Soren is just hangry and could care less. Ignoring her he yells again. "C'mon, guys! Break a leg!"

I look at him again, wondering if I heard that correctly.

"Why do you wish ill fate on your children?" Kishkumen asks, apparent horror stricken across his face.

"No, Kishkumen," Sandy replies with a kind smile. "He misspoke. He means 'shake a leg'. It's a phrase that means hurry up and move your legs faster."

Soren groans and rolls his eyes in obvious annoyance. "No, Sandy, I'm pretty sure it's break a leg." The utter vehemence in his voice speaks to his obvious _hanger_.

But it doesn't phase Sandy. "You say ' _break_ a leg' for theater stuff and ' _shake_ a leg' if you want someone to hurry. Faaaact," she adds with emphasis, shaking her head with amusement.

"I know you're wrong, Sandy."

Sandy laughs good-naturedly. "I'm not, Soren. I'm really not."

"Look, chill, guys," Richard remarks, coming out of his tent holding a book. "I've got my famous idioms book right here."

"Nerd alert!" Helga announces through her hand. I elbow her playfully and she laughs.

"Shut up, Helga," Richard retaliates. "Obviously it's coming in handy, isn't it? Alright, let's look it up." He clears his throat and reads, "'Shake a leg: to go faster; to hurry. Example: 'Hey, kids, shake a leg! You're going to be late!"

"I rest my case," Sandy replies, slightly smug.

"Oh, what?" Soren says, with a mocking facial expression. "You're gonna believe Richard's book over me?"

"If it's right and you are not. Here, sit your sassy pants down and eat this before you have a fit," she orders handing him a plate heaping with food. "I'll get the kiddos."

Sandy heads towards the clearing and Soren starts shoveling food into his mouth. Kishkumen leans over to me and whispers, "he is kind of awful isn't he?"

And Helga and I start laughing so hard I almost drop my plate of food.

* * *

Over the past few week, Kishkumen has been occasionally cooking meals for us or schooling Sandy in the Green Eyed ways. At first I was afraid him cooking so often would bother Sandy, but she has jumped at the chance to have extra time to work on translating and copying the writing in the temple.

"So what is this dish called, Kishkumen?" Sandy asks as she takes a large bite of the hot soup that he has just served us.

"It is called ' _Shahebu Eynahamen'_ ," Kishkumen replies, smiling proudly. "It is a spicy lime soup."

"It's very good," I tell him, savoring each bite. Who knew The Green-Eyed people had so many tasty meals?

"I've never had anything quite like this," Antoinette comments taking another bite. "It's spicy and sweet at the same time. Really delicious, Kishkumen. Thank you!"

"Yah, this is amazing! Can I have another bowl?" Soren asks, even though he just barely received his first.

"Of course," Kishkumen replies with a small nod of his head. He quickly fills up Soren's bowl and hands it back to him.

"Hey, Kish, do you think you could teach Sandy to make this? It's just so good!" Soren exclaims practically diving into his current bowl.

"Oh, yes, Kishkumen! Please do!" Sandy adds, smiling up at him.

"I am be happy to."

For a few moments more there is only the sound of eating. I glance around, actually surprised by the quiet currently surrounding this usually talkative group. Even as they start finishing, no one really talks, it's as if Kishkumen's soup has cast a magical calming spell on us. Sandy lies back against a log and cuddles her little boys, and Soren pulls out some paperwork from what I assume are tests he ran on some of the artifacts. Antoinette quietly finishes her soup while Richard lies back in his chair, his eyes closed peacefully.

Finally my eyes land on Helga. Somehow she just looks prettier every moment of every day. Backlighted by the setting sun, her hair glows more golden than ever as the sunset casts light and warm colors through the jungle trees. Lying on her stomach she stares down at her camera, deep in thought, slowly searching through the photographs she took earlier, a slight pucker in her brow, her legs slowly swinging back at forth in the air behind her. And I can't ignore the warmth that runs through me or the sudden moisture in my mouth. Why does she have to be so infuriating? Always on the run. Always afraid to trust anyone. Always moving away from me? Afraid to trust me.

Then again…why did I have to be such an idiot all our years growing up. Didn't I have ample chances back then to win her heart?

"Kishkumen, can you speak some of your language for us?" Sandy asks quietly, gently stroking Ramses head as she sleeps on her lap.

"Yes, please!" Antoinette echos excitedly.

Kishkumen nods. " _Shenab wadjah anakh. Wadjah natsharou bashah a eyenahu tuwou._ " The words lilt softly off his tongue, so soothing in their soft sounds.

I concentrate on his words, trying to make them out from what I've studied for so many years. But nothing sounds familiar. Some of the sounds he makes sound like those I've read about, but together it just sounds like gibberish to me. frustration takes a hold of me for a moment. Have we been translating everything incorrectly?

"What did he say, Arnold?" Antoinette asks, looking at me expectantly.

I grimace. "I have no idea."

"I thought for sure Arnold would be able to translate for us," Helga comments, sounding disappointed which only fuels my frustration.

"Well, all I've had to go on all these years is very little," I reply, trying not to sound as disappointed with myself as I feel. "Remember they are a secluded, mysterious people. Not many outsiders have had the opportunity to be around them, let alone learn their language."

"I wonder if that old beat up book you guys use is accurate at all. You should show it to Quiche," Soren suggests, sticking five marshmallows on a stick and thrusting it into the fire.

"My name is Kishkumen." His brow puckers as he reminds Soren, not for the first time.

"Right. Isn't that what I said?" Soren asks absently as he tries to blow the fire out that's now consumed his marshmallows.

Instead of answering Kishkumen just sighs dejectedly. "What book does he speak of, Arnold?"

I shrug, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed by the likely inaccuracy of the book. "It's an old book my dad used in college when he studied your people. Would you be interested in looking at it and tell us if any of it is correct?"

Kishkumen nods. "I will try my best to help."

I run to my tent and grab the book out of my desk, taking a deep breath on the way back. What if I'm so far off from actually knowing how to translate and speak their language? What if everything I've worked on for all these years is wrong? I mean I guess that's a risk you take studying dead or unknown languages, but still…I feel like that would be a pretty depressing realization.

I sit down next to Kishkumen who eagerly looks at the book in my hands. Opening to a random page, which happens to be a picture of a monkey, I point to it.

" _Kayee_ ," I say, speaking the word the way the book suggests. My cheeks burn, knowing I'm probably wrong and everyone's eyes are on us.

Kishkumen shakes his head, only making my cheeks burn hotter. "It is ' _kayeh'_."

I furrow my brow and open to another picture. This one is of a statue. " _Chantayee_ ," I say, attempting once more to say the word.

He shakes his head again and says, " _Khantyeh_."

And suddenly there's this glimmer of understanding. "Oh, so the Y makes a 'yeh' sound not a double E sound." Suddenly feeling excited I flip to another page. This is a picture of water. "Mewayeh."

"Yes. Yes! That is correct," Kishkumen exclaims, almost sounding giddy.

"Guess you weren't so far off after all, Football Brain," Helga laughs, leaning over to pat my leg. As much as I love her touch, I can't help but feel nervous by her gesture, still unsure where we stand and what is expected from me.

"Guess not," I reply, turning back to Kishkumen, ready to get this language down correctly once and for all. Imagine being able to speak anything I read on the walls of that temple.

As he continues explaining things to me, everything else around me fades into the background. My mind races in excitement, caching away each new nuance and tidbit, like a mental treasure trove of riches, each one opening the door to the Green Eye world just a little more.

* * *

A/N:

Sorry, sorry sorry for the delay! But you know...being pregnant eats all your creativity and leaves you exhausted (especially if it's your third go-around)...so now that baby boy is 3 months old (I can't believe it either!) I feel like my brain is back! Booyah!

I won't have time to update every other week like I used to for some time, but I will try to update frequently. I've also almost finished the next chapter of "No Competition" for those of you who have been waiting for an eternity for that! Anyway, let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and what your thoughts are, and as always, I love to know your favorite lines or parts!

XOXO!

Arnold's Love


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